Paris On Its Side
by frustratedstudent
Summary: Extra bits and outtakes from "When Apollo Met Persephone". Outtake 25: Claudine convinces Combeferre that it's high time to consider a change in addresses
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: As promised, here are the outtakes, missing bits, and 'things that our narrators are best not knowing' from the fic "When Apollo Met Persephone". Many of these one-shots will hinge on an established Enjolras/Eponine relationship. _

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of Victor Hugo's characters or anything that was originally in the novel "Les Miserables". Nor do I own any of the historical personages who occasionally pop up in these misadventures. _

_Our first outtake: In which little Jacques confronts the fact that being the youngest kid in the house is only a temporary thing. _

**1: The Youngest At Home**

The trouble starts one night at the Rue Guisarde, when Neville lugs another huge book up to the room he shares with his brothers, right when they are supposed to be asleep. "What have you got that paving stone for?" Gavroche asks as he shakes out his quilt.

Neville plops the book on the floor next to his bed and grabs the stub of a candle, which he lights from the lone candlestick in their room; he's been hoarding these stubs lately for surreptitious reading. "I think Ponine is going to have a baby," he says as he begins leafing through the pages.

Gavroche scoffs. "Why don't you ask one of the old ladies about that? They'd know."

"They talk too much, and anyway this is what the doctors read," Neville says as he lies down on his stomach to read. He shakes his raven hair out of his eyes before peering at the page, using his fingers to underline the words. "These pictures are funny...hmm, this book says that sometimes ladies who have babies get sick in the morning..." he thinks aloud.

By now Jacques pokes his head out from under the blankets, wondering what on earth is keeping his brothers awake. "What are you doing?"

"Reading now, hush! Go back to sleep!" Gavroche says, tossing a pillow at him.

Jacques scowls as he catches the pillow and jumps first on Gavroche's bed before hopping down to where Neville is still reading while patting their pet cat. "That's not for school. That book belongs to Combeferre."

"Not everything is about school," Neville says, inching over to make room for his little brother. His brow furrows as he looks back on the page. "Maybe Ponine is really going to have a baby. It's so obvious since she's been sick every morning since Saturday."

"What if it's just something bad she ate?" Jacques asks. It's not something new to them after all.

Neville shakes his head. "It can't happen every day. I don't think she's really sick, and this book says so too."

"Ponine can't have a baby. Where is she supposed to get one?" Jacques pouts.

"It just gets there, _mome_," Gavroche drawls.

"She's not getting fat the way that the other ladies did before," Jacques points out. He knows that two of his sister's friends have kids of their own; he still remembers the times before Armand and Georges were born, and he still remembers the mothers of these boys talking about how difficult it was to get so big. There is no way something like that is happening to Eponine right now.

Neville shakes his head as he points to one of the longer paragraphs. "I think that happens after a long time, like just before the baby actually comes."

Gavroche scratches his head as he looks at Jacques. "What's with that worried mask?"

Jacques shakes his head. "You two are being silly."

"We're not; this book says so," Neville retorts.

"Are too!" Jacques argues. Yet somehow it is possible that his brothers are in the right, but that does not mean it is a good thing. Why would Eponine want another child if she already has them to take care of? Who's going to tuck them in at night and help them with their homework if everyone is going to be busy with someone who's even littler than they are? Does that mean that Eponine and Enjolras will no longer have time for them anymore?

There is only one way to find out and Jacques decides he won't wait another minute to do it. He gets to his feet and marches to the door. "Now where are you going?" Neville asks.

"To ask Ponine!" Jacques answers. He runs out, thinking for a moment that Gavroche and Neville will chase him, like they sometimes like to do, but for some reason they are laughing much too hard to even follow him out of the room.

'_You knew this was going to happen, but maybe just not this soon,' _Eponine tells herself as she flops down on the settee in the front room. If not for the slight tiredness in her limbs and all this anxiety building in her chest, she would insist that she feels perfectly fine, or at least much better than she was faring this morning. She sighs as she mulls over this fact; knowing her luck, tomorrow is going to be a repeat performance of today's nausea and retching. At least now she can be sure as to the real cause behind this mysterious physical turn.

Her hand wanders to her midsection, just below her navel, and she wonders how long it will stay as flat as it is tonight. She may be young, but even so she is no fool. She's heard enough of the signs, seen them in her own friends, and anyway she is somehow aware of how her own body works. On some level she was always sure that this week of queasy mornings, dizziness, and aversions to things such as her own burnt coffee cannot be chalked up to any old illness. It's just as well that two of her closest friends have the medical knowhow to help her ascertain her condition.

'_I s'pose it's only fitting that Claudine and Combeferre guessed that this baby will be born in the summer,' _she thinks a little less wryly as she reaches for her mending basket. Summer has always been a time of change for her; thankfully for the past two years these changes have been more along the lines of new and even rather welcome beginnings. It's enough to bring a smile to her face as she starts darning a hole in a shirt.

At length she hears an all too familiar tread coming from the study. "What are you looking up now?" she asks Enjolras as he occupies on the other end of the settee. As usual he has done away with his coat and his cravat, but has kept his waistcoat on. It's almost maddening for Eponine to watch, and she is pretty sure that the warmth blooming in her cheeks is not just from their proximity.

As usual her husband seems oblivious to the effect he has on her. "Jail fever," he deadpans, indicating the folio he has with him. "It isn't only a sickness of the prisons; there have been more people becoming ill with it within the hospitals."

She nods, remembering now that he and their friends are investigating the conditions of the hospitals in the Latin Quartier district. "It's ironic, isn't it?" she asks as she puts her feet right in his lap.

Enjolras absent-mindedly squeezes her ankle."Sordid would be more of the word."

Eponine smiles at his seemingly relaxed attitude; perhaps it will make it easier for her to break the news. She quickly catches his hand, only to end up biting her lip when he looks at her. She pauses, reminding herself that she has to tell him now, or risk a more awkward explanation tomorrow morning when she is ill all over again. "Antoine, I have something to tell you..."

It is at that precise moment that the front room door flies open to the sound of light, harried footsteps. "Ponine! Gavroche and Neville are being silly and saying you're going to have a baby!" Jacques yells breathlessly as he scrambles onto the settee. "It's not true, right?"

It takes a second for Eponine to realize that her ears are not tricking her; her brother has essentially confronted her with the very fact she should have told her husband first. She swallows hard, now completely at a loss as to what to say, especially since Enjolras is staring at her as if she has suddenly announced that the sky is falling. It's all she can do now not to scold Jacques for barging in at the worst moment possible, but suddenly she sees him looking down as if he is trying to hide his pouting. "Jacques?" she asks worriedly.

Jacques looks up sharply at her and Enjolras. "You don't like me, Neville, and Gavroche anymore."

"That isn't true," Enjolras points out.

"It is! You and Ponine will always be with the baby and you won't take care of us after that!" Jacques cries as he jumps off the seat and runs out of the room. In a few moments the sound of a door slamming upstairs rents the air.

Eponine sighs as she slumps against the settee. "I'm so sorry. This wasn't how it was supposed to go," she whispers.

Enjolras takes a deep breath as he clasps both of her hands. His expression is incredulous, as if he is still trying to take this all in. "Are you though?"

She nods and kisses his cheek. "Yes. You're going to be a father. A good one, I'm so sure of it," she whispers as she runs her fingers through his hair. She needs him, desperately; the truth is that there are some things about being a mother that frighten her almost to the point of bringing back her nightmares and she needs his reassurance that they will get through this. She knows he needs her; he's never imagined being a parent in his own right, and this is something he will have to learn or even struggle through. However this is a moment when her brother needs her more, so she squeezes Enjolras' hands by way of apology before hurrying out of the room to search for Jacques.

She knows better than to find him in his room; he's not one to let Gavroche and Neville see him cry. Instead she finds him in _her_ bed, curled up and sobbing into the pillows. She sighs, knowing that this is at least one step up from having to extricate him from a closet or some impossible space. "Jacques, it's not going to be such a bad thing," she whispers as she sits next to him.

Jacques sniffles as he looks up at her. "But why?"

"Exactly what sort of why?"

"Why do you two have to have a kid?"

Eponine sighs as she tries to come up with an explanation that her brother can actually understand, and will be enough to soothe his pain as well as his curiosity. For a fleeting moment she wishes that someone else could explain this to him, but she pinches her wrist to banish the thought. She's a mother now, and part of that means having to face up to questions like this. "It happens, and I s'pose it's also because we want to," she says.

Jacques wipes his face with his sleeve. "Babies are noisy. Why do you want one?"

This time Eponine shrugs, knowing better than to attempt to explain this very grown up side of the matter to her little brother. "You'll see when you're older."

"That's what everyone always says," Jacques pouts.

"I'm right this time and you know it," Eponine says. She scoots closer to him to give him a hug and holds on tight; it will not be long till he will become too big for her to do this. "I'm always going to be your older sister, even if I'm someone else's _maman. _That means I'll always be there to take care of you. Antoine also promised he'd take care of you boys too, and he never says anything he doesn't mean," she says, hoping with every fiber of her being that he will believe this reminder.

Jacques looks down before nodding slowly. "I didn't want to make you sad, Ponine," he finally says in a very small voice.

She smiles as she ruffling his hair. "You didn't really make me sad, _petit. _I s'pose if I was still as little as you I wouldn't be all that happy too," she confides. It's all she can do not to roll her eyes at the memories that come to mind; she really was a little bit of a spoiled child back when her family was still at Montfermeil. Thankfully only Azelma and Cosette can really remind her of those days, and it's a good thing that the three of them have an unspoken accord not to dwell too much on these things."

Jacques just gives her a quizzical look as he wipes the last of the tearstains off his face. "Is the baby going to be a girl like you or a boy like Enjolras?"

"I don't know," Eponine replies wistfully. "It won't be some time till we find out."

"I hope it's a boy, and then there will be someone else to play with me," Jacques says, finally smiling a little before holding back a yawn.

The very image of Jacques chasing after a toddler is enough to make Eponine giggle. "Oh that won't happen for a very long time, and you'll be so much bigger by then!" she teases. She hears the bedroom door open and she motions for Enjolras to sit with them. "I s'pose I should have talked with you about this before dinner," she tells him ruefully.

"Either way, you would have needed to have this conversation with him," Enjolras replies, glancing at Jacques. He reaches in his fob for his watch and shakes his head. "It's already late, _petit_. It's time for you to go to bed."

"I'm not sleepy," Jacques protests even as he holds back another yawn. "Can I tell Gavroche and Neville?" he asks after a moment.

"Not tonight. Wait till breakfast," Enjolras says firmly before he scoops Jacques up and swings him onto his shoulders. He looks at Eponine for a long moment. "Five minutes."

She nods, knowing that these two need to have their own talk about this new situation. "Good luck, Antoine," she whispers in his ear. The bemused smirk he gives her is enough to have her laughing as he leaves the room with her brother in tow, more so when she hears Jacques begin to pester him with questions. '_At least he's got someone to teach him how to be a big brother,' _she muses more hopefully before turning her thoughts towards how to continue yet another important discussion.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thanks much! _

_To the guest: Thanks! _

_AyosDito: I like your pen name. Thanks much too! _

_Outtake 2: Jehan/Azelma time now! These two will feature a lot in the outtakes, as they have quite the story to tell too. This is their first meeting._

**2: On the Stairs**

_October 1832_

Sometimes, especially when Eponine was at work and their brothers were at school, there was little that Azelma could do other than sleep or occupy herself with her thoughts. After all their neighbours were busy and their street was sorely lacking in amusement; she would have to go as far as the neighbourhood of the Odeon or the Luxembourg for anything of that sort. '_I don't see why she can't let me go out to the Rue de Babylone sometimes just to see the gentlemen there,' _she groused silently as she got out of bed and threw a fichu over her purple dress. '_Just because she already has that Theodule fellow of hers, that doesn't mean I can't go looking for one of my own,' _she decided as she hurriedly braided her raven hair.

As she made her way to the door of the cramped apartment, she made sure to listen for any sign of their neighbours moving about. For once the silence was reassuring since it meant that Combeferre was still asleep after a long night at work, while Enjolras was most likely still at work. Azelma could not help but breathe a sigh of relief since this meant she would not have to come up with an excuse that could stand up to Combeferre's logic, or steel herself against Enjolras' piercing glare. '_Why they are on Ponine's side about things, I do not know,' _she thought petulantly as she slipped into the hall and down the stairs.

In her haste she quite failed to miss the sound of the front door creaking open and a solid but hurried tread on the stairs. Suddenly she collided with something tall, and for a moment she felt herself teetering. As she shrieked with fright, a warm hand grabbed her arm to steady her. "I'm so sorry, Citizenness!" a smooth voice exclaimed, shaky with bewilderment and the loss of balance.

Azelma grabbed onto the wall for support even as she dared to raise her head, knowing that this young man was not one of her neighbours. He was tall, or at least had enough inches to see over the top of her head. His hair was mostly hidden by a floppy hat, which clashed with the rest of his otherwise smart attire. Something about his unassuming but friendly mien struck her as vaguely familiar, and so she did not push him aside rudely. "Who are you looking for?" she blurted out.

"I was going to see Combeferre," this man said, shuffling to one side to try to give her some room on the stairs. "Is he awake yet?"

"No, he's been quiet all this time. You should come back in an hour," Azelma replied.

The young man nodded amiably as he took off his hat and tucked it behind his back. "You must be Eponine's sister."

Azelma managed a stunned nod. "How did you know?"

"I didn't know, but I guessed," the young man confessed. "She mentioned you, and you do resemble her, a little."

"_Very _little," Azelma replied tartly. As far as she was concerned she and Eponine hardly looked alike; they were both slender as a result of living on the streets but this was their only resemblance. Eponine was taller, freckled, with reddish brown hair that easily drew attention, especially if she took the slightest bit of care with it. Azelma on the other hand was made for the shadows: puny, dark haired, and with a face that easily passed out of one's memory.

"I did not mean any offense, Citizenness," the young man said apologetically.

"I can tell."

"Are you stepping out?"

"You mean just going outside?"

"Will you allow me to walk you to the door?"

Azelma stared at him, searching his gray eyes for any sign of mocking, but there was only warmth and good cheer in his smile. "Like a gentleman would with a real lady?" she asked, trying to hide her astonishment.

"Naturally," the young man said, offering her his arm. "By the way, you can call me Jean Prouvaire."

Azelma nodded, trying his name silently on her lips. "It's a lovely name. Very proper."

"Sometimes I don't think so. What would yours be?"

For the first time Azelma managed a smile. "Azelma. Azelma Thenardier."


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: These outtakes will be written out of order, by the way; I'm only writing them down as I conceptualize them. Sorry for any confusion with regard to timeline._

**3: ****Fairy Tales and Romances**

Cosette does not understand Azelma. In fact she's pretty sure that no one truly does; even Eponine and Prouvaire, the two people who know her best, have been so thrown off and confused over the past few weeks. That doesn't bar the young Baroness from being very friendly to the younger Thenardier girl when she comes to call, or to be more exact when she trails after the glamorous Lafontaine sisters.

_'Why do you look more like a wilting flower than ever, Azelma?'_Cosette wonders silently as she sees her friend (yes, she can safely call Azelma a 'friend') press her back against the drawing room's furthest wall. It's as if she's trying to disappear from the flurry of teatime conversation, or at least from the view of the other guests. Cosette frowns at this; hadn't there been a time when Azelma herself was the center of much attention? That was at least what she heard from Prouvaire, Bahorel, Therese, Grantaire, and Nicholine, as well as other acquaintances connected with the artists and playwrights of the Latin Quartier. _That_ is something she could imagine, oddly enough, especially if Azelma combines her askance sense of humor with Prouvaire's artistry.

It disquiets Cosette that there is nothing of this spark now in this perfectly made up girl, this _doll_ sitting at one end of her drawing room. Azelma looks as if she's stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine; her black hair is piled high in an intricate knot, her lavender dress is perfectly cinched in at the waist, and she has embroidered slippers instead of rough clogs on her small feet. However no amount of rouge can hide the haggardness of her cheeks, and no paint can disguise eyes that have been sad for too long. For a moment Cosette is indignant and would love to ask Angelique or Cerise Lafontaine about this state of affairs. However prudence must win the day, and so she waits for the Lafontaines to make a show of strolling in the garden. Cosette makes sure to ask Azelma to keep her company indoors, just to secure this opportunity for conversation.

As she expects, it only takes that second after the drawing room door closes for sheer relief to spread across Azelma's face. "How did you know I didn't want to go outside?" she asks Cosette.

"I didn't. I just didn't want to be alone here," Cosette replies. She waits for Azelma to pick out a pastry from a half-finished plate. "Are you living with them?"

Azelma nods. "I didn't want to stay in Jehan's rooms, not when we're like this. It's embarrassing to him."

"Have you talked with him lately?" Cosette asks. This row between her friends has been a cause of concern in their little group (more of odd extended family at this point) for some time now. She suspects that it will not be possible to repair it till certain outside developments, such as the trial of the errant jeweller Christophe Duchamp, have taken place. '_In God's good time,'_she reminds herself, almost wishing she did not ask such an impertinent question.

Oddly enough, Azelma does not seem too fazed by the question. "I want to but I can't. I'm not sure how I really could, after everything." She pauses to take a bite of food. "I heard from Ponine that he's well. That's one good thing."

"He loves you."

"Loved. I don't think he can now."

Cosette sighs. "You really underestimate him, Azelma. Out of all our friends, I think he's the one who could forgive the most easily. That is saying_a lot_. He's not the sort to hold a grudge."

"Ponine said something like that too," Azelma whispers. "It's easy for her to say. She always has the best of everything," she adds in a more wistful, slightly bitter voice.

The Baroness quietly takes a sip of her tea, if only to quell that sense of foreboding. She hasn't had this feeling around Azelma since they were children together in Montfermeil. "That's something I never heard," she says after a while.

"I'm sure you remember. You're old enough to have seen more of it," Azelma says. "It was always because she was the oldest, and because Papa liked to say that she was the smartest. She always had the nicer dresses, she got to have the dolls before I did, and even guests at the inn used to say she was so pretty and clever."

Cosette simply sips her tea again as the bleak, painful memories of Montfermeil surface once more. Of course, she tells herself, hers are colored from the fact she was living in shadow _literally_, looking in on Eponine and Azelma's childhood games from the relative safety of under the tables or in cupboards. She honestly cannot recall if there was much of a difference between how the Thenardier parents fawned over their two eldest children; all she knew was that Eponine and Azelma were privileged and treated much better than she could ever be. Could there have been a whole different story she missed all those years ago?

She shrugs away the thought, reminding herself not to question her own recollections, or Azelma's own memories too much. They had been very young children after all. "Does it still matter now?" she asks, almost hypothetically.

Azelma nods furiously. "It never changed, even during those bad days. Papa sometimes said that Ponine needed the better dress-meaning the one that wasn't in rags-since she was the one knocking on doors, she was the one who had to deal with Montparnasse and the gentlemen. I would have been cold all the time if Maman didn't let me have her shawl on those days." She finishes the pastry in her hand but does not reach for another. "Sometimes I wished I didn't have a sister."

"Azelma, how can you say such a thing?"

"I _wished_. Only when I was really, really angry with Ponine. That wasn't every day or too often, just when we had those stupid fights."

Cosette tries to hide an unladylike snort; it's just like those silly tiffs between girls at convent school. It's probably the unavoidable part about being a girl. "I'm sorry for laughing, Azelma. I imagined it too well."

Azelma laughs as well, a surprising and welcome sound. Her laughter is still high and even musical; a startling contrast from the raspier laugh that comes from her sister. "Do you remember the stories back from the inn?"

"The inn was always full of stories from the travelers," Cosette says. "Maybe you mean the ones that used to be part of your games, or the ones that your mother used to tell?"

"The stories about princesses and princes, and castles," Azelma replies. She dusts sugar off her skirt. "It's not in keeping with the Republic now, I know, but I like remembering them. There was one I liked..."

_'Cendrillon._The girl with a slipper and the ball..."

"How did you remember?"

Cosette shrugs again; it's a memory she cannot place, a word that merely surfaces when fairy tales and Azelma are suddenly in the same sentence. "Maybe you asked to hear it a lot."

Azelma grins more convivially than ever. "Do you know what my favorite part was?"

"The part when the prince finds her with the other slipper, I guess?"

"No, the part when Cendrillon first appears at the ball with her new dress, and everyone is looking right at her. They do not see where she came from, but they see her as something like a princess. Not even her own step sisters recognize her."

Cosette's eyebrows shoot up; don't most girls like happy endings instead of the middle? Yet it somehow makes sense, if it's Azelma mentioning this. She doesn't seem the sort to believe too much in princes, for some reason. "I guess that's an important part of the story after all," she muses aloud.

"I sometimes wondered how it would be to pretend to be a lady so grand that no one would recognize me as Azelma Thenardier," her friend says with a sad smile. "That would be nice on some days, to be known as someone else besides the other Thenardier girl."

The way Azelma says this pinches something in Cosette's chest. It's a pain that runs deep within her too, even if she's never had a sister of her own. She remembers all too well how it was after all to hear the more affluent girls at Picpus chatting in whispers about the grand times they had at home, about the glamor they could expect once their time at school was up. While she's never wanted for anything, she is not entirely immune to moments of envy, of longing for a little recognition or even beauty. Maybe it's something that every girl or woman feels every now and then. Maybe it's something Azelma feels a little more often, or more painfully.

It's easy to imagine these scenes; in fact Cosette knows she sees them every time the Thenardier sisters come around. Eponine doesn't mean to be so, but she is definitely in the role of the stepsister who is at the center of attention, while Azelma is undeniably the forgotten Cendrillon. It can't be helped; Eponine gets into things, while Azelma observes first. Yet times have been moving too fast for anyone to form a quiet strategy, so it's inevitable that it's those like Eponine who become the center of attention.

Cosette notices the pained look on Azelma's face. "You're more than just that. To Prouvaire. To your friends. To me and Marius."

One of Azelma's dark eyebrows arches. "I know but I don't see why it is that way. Ponine was so much worse than I am; we all know she's hardly a lady. But she's the one everyone knows and talks about."

"It's not easy," Cosette points out. She sees Azelma's eyebrows rise almost to meet her hairline; clearly she hasn't thought about it, or at least heard it from anyone. "Being known always comes with a price."

"What, like being in the newspapers all the time?"

"That's just one sign of it."

"It's better than being forgotten."

"I am pretty sure your sister and your future brother-in-law would now give a great deal to have a week, or even a single day of peace to themselves."

For a while Azelma doesn't say anything; clearly she is drawing the comparisons in her mind. "Did you have a favorite fairy tale?" she asks after a while.

Cosette pauses to grasp at these threads of memory. It's not easy to remember garbled stories in the voice of the now deceased Mme. Thenardier. "Maybe it had to be the one about the princess who was cursed and woke up after a hundred years when a prince finally came. I always thought it was a little romantic."

Azelma shakes her head. "No prince would wait that long."

"I don't think he waited. He was born to it," Cosette points out. "Born at the right time to meet her."

"You and Ponine are so alike, you prefer stories with curses," Azelma remarks. "You know what hers is? _La Belle et La Bete."_

"Did she ever say why?"

"Something about that being one of the few stories wherein the Princess does not really need the Prince to rescue her."

Cosette laughs since their choices of fairy tale somehow suit them. She's always had a belief in perfect timing, and even fancied that she and Marius were 'meant' to meet at a certain time, at a certain place. No earlier, no later. She could even excuse the fact that he'd almost gotten killed at the barricade last year. As for Eponine's choice of story, there's at least the fact that she's stopped needing a rescue a long time ago. In fact one might say that the fairy tale works in the sense that she's the one who was able to find the man beneath the image of a revolutionary leader.

She pauses to look at Azelma again, wondering what else the younger girl is thinking about. "They all have happy endings."

"Not for me."

"I don't think you should wait for Prouvaire to come around with a glass slipper."

Azelma smirks, perhaps liking the mental image. "Will he come around at all?"

"I'm sure he will. Better yet, why don't you go to him first?" Cosette suggests. "_That_ would be a tale like no other."


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Set right after Chapter 65; it didn't fit in there since it would have been a long denouement. It doesn't fit in Chapter 66 either. But this is Eponine's take on the direct aftermath of the Magnon trial. A little edited from its original version_

**4: This Is Why You Are a Man**

It is already early evening before they can finally leave the Palais de Justice, as well as the resulting flurry of newshounds and law enforcement personnel that descend on the scene of the most explosive trial of the month. _'At least till Friday_,' Eponine tells herself as she sets down her still mostly full glass of wine. It's only Wednesday but she already feels as if she's been running around for a week, or maybe more. Then again, it's not as if every single day of hers involves dealing with a hysterical employer, sneaking into the Palais de Justice, listening to a very tense series of testimonies, helping her friends escape a courtroom under attack, and seeing her partner come to within an inch of losing his life, or even worse, his humanity.

She hears a single sharp clink from next to her and she sees that Enjolras has also set down his own cup of coffee, taking care not to leave any splatters on the blue tablecloth. Even at such a moment he refuses to imbibe, no matter if it's almost a natural recourse for nearly everyone else they know. "You're right; we wouldn't be discovered in this place," she tells him by way of opening conversation.

"At least for this hour," he remarks, gesturing with one hand to the tiny bistro they have chosen to retreat to for a bit of a breather before going home to a whole new set of chaos. It is a good thing that the vicinity of the _Jardin Royal des Plantes_ is quieter at this hour, at least compared to the neighborhood of the Sorbonne or the Odeon. All the same they have made sure to ask for the quietest table, which happens to be located in an upstairs alcove so tight that they have no choice but to sit elbow to elbow, with their knees always in danger of bumping against each other. Yet it's a small price to pay for a moment's peace, moments that are becoming increasingly rare for them nowadays.

"Can you guess what the _Moniteur_ will be saying tomorrow?" she asks, dropping her voice for safety's sake. "It's going to be all about how the trial didn't end the way it was supposed to, and what you did about it."

"I only made sure he would be locked up, as the jury decided he would be," Enjolras points out. His nose crinkles the way it does when he's deep in thought. "It may be an unpopular opinion though."

"Why?"

"The jury would have been perfectly within its rights to condemn him to the galleys or to death. The amendments to our penal codes haven't been passed into law yet."

Eponine sighs as she sees the dire timing of these events. It's no secret that Enjolras has been working very, very hard to have capital punishment, the _bagne_ and other horrible penalties abolished from their penal system. A lot of it is from his beliefs in where progress should go and what the rights of man ought to be, but she is aware that his drive also stems from more personal matters such as the story of Jean Valjean and the execution of Claquesous. Maybe one of those stories is hers too. "Maybe they see some things the same way you do," she tells him.

He raises one blond eyebrow. "I believe that they were not willing to indulge him. He was hoping someone would react strongly to everything he said."

_'Like you_,' she almost says, but there is no need to voice it out. It's no secret either who Olivier Magnon's main target all along was. It almost sickens her to think that one man could be so relentless in trying to bring down another, almost for the sheer pleasure of seeing the fall. "The journalists were asking why you showed him mercy, after everything that happened."

"It would not have been mercy." Enjolras takes a sip of his coffee again before looking at her. "It would be self-defense; he engineered it to be so. I would have been within my rights to strike there and then."

Eponine swallows hard as the memory of the past few hours flashes before her eyes. '_He was there with the knife; I never saw him look so terrible before_,' she recalls. She's always known he was fearless, but tonight she understands a little better why some of their friends joke about Enjolras being an archangel on this earth. He has that same absolute fire, that steady hand, and that faultless purpose towards that which is right. It's a beautiful and frightening image, one she would certainly be in awe of and would have every right to be frightened of. She shakes this thought away before she clasps his hand. "You still did the right thing."

He raises his eyebrows again. "You know what I would have done months ago."

"Yes, but it's not the same. That was a barricade, this time it was a court..." she begins as she runs her fingers over the back of his hand. She feels him adjust their hands so that their fingers are intertwined; the natural fit is something they both enjoy greatly. She smiles as she uses her thumb to rub the side of his. "You're different nowadays too."

He smiles bemusedly at her. "You haven't known me all that long, Eponine."

"I've seen a lot happen though with you," she points out. Of course she has; she would have even if they hadn't spent the better part of a year as neighbors. She would have found a way into his life all the same, and she would have let him into hers somehow. "I think it's wonderful."

Enjolras' cheeks turn red. "You notice the oddest things, but I'm glad you think so."

She laughs when he returns her grin with that awkward but grateful smile that he saves especially for her. Looking at him is enough to make her heart clench in the best way possible; he's so beautiful when he's like this since she can see so much more than his golden curls, his classical features, his eyes that give the color blue a whole new meaning, or even that proud and strong manner that has so many people admiring him. She would dearly like to kiss him now but there is still the fact they are in public. So instead she briefly presses her free hand to his lips and he nods, understanding now that her compliment was earnest and not in jest. This is one of the many things she has come to love about him: that he can listen, that he respects the way she looks at him and at their world, that he is learning to laugh at himself, and that he can change. '_He's not marble at all_,' she thinks, closing her eyes to relish the warmth of his callused hand coming up to brush her hair out of her face. It is again another gesture of his that only she knows.

"Perhaps Friday will be less dramatic," he remarks, moving a little away from her lest he accidentally knock over her glass of wine.

"Can we possibly make it that way?" she quips as she picks up her drink. Of course knowing them and their circumstances, that might not be at all possible but it has to be done for sanity's sake.

He smirks at the implied challenge in her words. "We can discuss that, especially after we see what the newspapers have to say."

"Tomorrow then," she replies with a smile before taking a sip of wine. It's only for the taste of it nowadays; there's no need for liquid courage when he's around.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Chapter 38 outtake: what happened at the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau on the day Eponine began working for the Stendhals. Yes, this is Theodule's visit. _

**5: A Sound Disapproval**

The letter arrived at the barracks on the Rue de Babylone just as the officers' mess was about to finish its breakfast. As soon as Theodule Gillenormand opened the note and caught sight of the flourishing penmanship covering the paper, he quickly pocketed it in order to save himself the embarrassment of his messmates' prying. It was only a short while later, in his quarters, that he dared to peruse the missive in its entirety. '_I knew that Eponine would regret not accompanying me to Dijon,'_ he couldn't help thinking with some measure of smugness as he went to speak with his commanding officer about taking a short furlough to 'visit a friend in Paris.'

It went without saying that he would have to visit Eponine at the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau. There was no doubt that she had been caught up in that catastrophic political meeting outside Notre Dame just two days ago, and was likely to still be recuperating from the incident. '_That should be enough to convince her of the dangers of these political shenanigans,'_ the lancer noted as he changed out of his uniform into a suit of clothes more suited for a civilian. He cringed with displeasure as he pulled a blue tailcoat over his tight waistcoat and pantaloons. He always found these garments more restricting and almost too foppish for his taste, but nevertheless it sometimes still served him well to act like part of the general populace, especially when making such personal visits.

After he boarded a fiacre and gave the address of his destination to the coachman, he reached in his pocket for the note and began to reread it, already picturing the girl behind these words. For certain, she would have grown more beautiful; he could imagine the crisp winter weather bringing a rosy flush to Eponine's cheeks. Yet what pleasure he had on thinking of this was diminished as he revisited their most recent conversation. He was certain that Eponine would have agreed to the trip if it had not been for her siblings. There did not seem to be any way of getting her to part from them even for a short span of time. '_It would have been a waste of a journey to bring them along,' _he reminded himself. There would have been nothing more disastrous for wooing than to have to also contend with a surly waif as well as three rambunctious boys.

In a few minutes the carriage was at the tenement on the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau. Theodule scowled at the sight of this old and just so slightly rundown house with three storeys, a typical edifice in this district swarming with pretentious students and drunken bohemians. It was hardly a dwelling for someone of Eponine's calibre, a daughter of innkeepers and a somewhat educated female at that. In fact it was even ill suited for a person of Theodule's constitution; he could not fathom whose idea it was to situate the barracks in such a crowded, poky side of the Seine. He could only hope that the coming months would present another opportunity for him to show her how their lives might be like if she only allowed him to spirit her away from this tired city.

He knocked once on the door and found himself confronted by the concierge. "Madame, I am here to call on Mademoiselle Thenardier ," he greeted.

"She is out doing errands," the concierge said in a clipped tone as she wiped her hands on her apron. "You're that lancer friend of hers?"

"Theodule Gillenormand."

"I don't know when she'll be back, young man."

Theodule nodded cordially, even as he could feel his toes twitching with agitation. "May I wait for her here then?" he asked more courteously.

The old woman's eyes narrowed as she looked over her shoulder, as if watching for her other tenants, and then back at Theodule. "It may very well be a long wait," she muttered as she let him in. "Do you want some coffee or anything?"

"I can do without, thank you Madame," Theodule replied gallantly. He bowed low to the concierge but looked up to see her already closing the door to her lodge. He shrugged at this slight before he shook out his coat. As he strode to a seat he suddenly heard a loud yelp, a mere moment before something smacked against his shin hard enough to have him cursing. He looked down and found himself gaping at a small boy with raven hair that half-obscured his brown eyes. This child was clutching a formidable looking tome close to his chest.

"What are you doing here?" the child demanded.

Theodule scratched his head, wondering where he'd seen this youngster before. "I'm visiting Mademoiselle Thenardier. She sent me a letter."

The boy scowled at him. "Why would my sister send you a note?"

"She wanted to talk to me," Theodule replied, hoping to stall for time as he struggled to remember the boy's name. He'd met all three of Eponine's brothers once, but he could not remember which one of them had the odd sounding name, and which ones were easier on the tongue. "Shouldn't you be in school with the others?" he asked.

The boy's scowl deepened as he rolled up one of his trouser legs to show a wooden foot. "Not yet with this. Why aren't you with the other soldiers?"

"I asked for permission to visit," Theodule said, straightening up. "Could you tell me when Eponine is going to return?"

The boy shook his head as he stepped aside to let a large cat settle itself against him. "I want you to go away and never come back."

Theodule was agog at this sudden hostility. "What did you say?"

"I know you like her but she doesn't like you."

"Your sister likes me or she wouldn't have written."

"I don't care. I don't like you and my brothers don't like you too," the boy continued. The look in his face was enough for Theodule to take a step back, lest he suddenly find the heavy book connecting with his toes. "Now go away!"

Theodule held up a hand. "I need to talk to your sister first."

"I said go away!" the boy insisted more loudly.

Suddenly a step sounded from the kitchen. "Neville, what are you doing?" a woman's melodious voice asked. This newcomer was lovely, with deep dark eyes and luxurious dark hair curled in the latest fashion. Her brow furrowed when she looked at Theodule. "Eponine isn't here," she said.

Theodule nodded, now trying to place this woman's name. He was sure he had seen her before, perhaps at the meeting he'd tried to pull Eponine away from. "I was told I could wait for her here," he said.

The woman shook her head. "You should leave. You heard Neville already."

"He's just a child. Surely-" Theodule scoffed before he saw the woman take a single menacing step closer to him. "Mademoiselle, I did not mean any offense."

"You should say _Citizenness,_" the woman retorted smoothly. "You should go before the gentlemen come down from upstairs. I doubt they will be as eager to receive you."

Theodule froze at these words. How could he have forgotten that Eponine also lived with two other young men, Enjolras and Combeferre? He felt his gut sour at the recollection of this fact; he still had not forgotten how they had pretty much goaded Eponine into defying him to his face, or how Enjolras had meddled in his attempt to bring Eponine away from a political meeting. Nevertheless he stood up straight, determined not to let this threat faze him. "I am not here to call on them."

"Yes, but you are still not welcome here. If Eponine wishes, she can meet you elsewhere," the woman said haughtily.

"She wrote to me."

"Well that's a mistake then."

"Come now, be reasonable..."

"Do not think I do not know what you mean by coming here, _Citizen_ Gillenormand. You have offended my friends on more than one occasion, without making proper amends for it. It is rude to show up uninvited."

The boy named Neville was now tugging on the arm of this woman. "Chetta, should I call them?"

The woman shook her head. "It will end badly if you do," she warned. "You had better leave while I am the only one telling you to. I doubt the neighbors will have the same view of the matter."

Theodule sighed deeply, feeling that dread that accompanied a defeat. "Will you at least tell Eponine that I was here?"

"She'll know," the woman said. "I'll make sure of it."

Theodule nodded, knowing better than to pursue this argument more so now that he saw that Neville was making his way to the stairs. "Then have a good day, both of you," he said in a barely civil tone before turning on his heel to leave. He cast one glance over his shoulder as he left the tenement behind him, knowing that this would be the last time he would venture near this house.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: This one has been on my mind for a while. A trigger warning here for childbirth, even if not presented overly graphically. _

**6: August 15, 1834**

Fridays were notoriously busy days at the Hotel de Ville, and the 15th of August 1834 was no exception. '_How can people stand to move about so much in this weather?'_ Eponine thought as she shifted in her seat in a desperate attempt to get comfortable. She tried to ignore the lingering ache in her back as she sat up straight, which was no easy feat given the swell of her belly. '_I probably shouldn't take the omnibus to get back home,' _she reminded herself.

She glanced to her left and saw Simone watching her anxiously, apparently not even noticing how the plumes in her hat were now drooping all over her face. "Are you sure you still feel well?" Simone asked in a low voice. "You look rather worried."

"I'm just carrying around a lot, that's all," Eponine replied dryly, even as she checked her watch. It was nearly two in the afternoon, precisely the most uncomfortable time of the day. '_If I was at home now, I'd probably get one of those nice flavoured ices or something of that sort,' _she thought, remembering now that one of the neighbours was making quite a profit this season just from selling these delicacies at the Marche Saint-Germain. Perhaps if this meeting ended early enough she would make a side trip to the market and see if she could pick up enough of these treats for everyone at home.

She took a deep breath as she thought back on the past few hours; the last place she was _supposed_ to be in was at the Hotel de Ville, in the middle of a tense committee hearing about the state of the children's wards in the Bourbe, the Val du Grace, and several other hospitals. Inasmuch as she'd promised Enjolras that she would cooperate and actually follow Combeferre's medical advice to stay home and rest, there was that equally urgent fact that Leonor, who'd been in charge of sitting in at the hearing, had a sudden change of plans thanks to an emergency at the bookshop. Somehow events had conspired such that Eponine had no choice but to fill in for her friend, lest several weeks of work be summarily ignored by a still recalcitrant group of hospital administrators. Fortunately, more for her friends than herself, her brothers were spending the day at Courfeyrac's apartment.

As she rubbed her still sore back, she heard someone cough from the front of the room. "The committee would like to call on Citizenness Eponine Enjolras to speak on the proposal of _Les Femmes Pour Egalite et Fraternite_ on this matter," the head convenor announced as he wiped his sweaty brow.

Eponine bit her lip as she got to her feet, ignoring the murmurs and whispers all around her. '_As if they have never seen a woman in this condition before,' _she thought as she ambled to the makeshift podium. She clumsily searched her pockets for her small notebook, which she set out onto the tabletop before opening it to where she'd hurriedly scribbled some points for a speech. It was all she could do not to cringe, or wish once again that she had the gift of extemporaneous oratory. "Citizens and Citizennesses, I would like to present a few practical suggestions that would perhaps allow for the better care of children who have to be...seen to in these hospitals," she began slowly. She'd originally written down the word 'confined', but knew better than to publicly say this, if only to avoid drawing further attention to her condition.

She took a deep breath as she looked about, certain that she had everyone's attention. Even so she could feel that her back was still somewhat tight and it was all she could do not to slouch in order to relieve the ache somewhat. "A main complaint in these wards is of the overcrowding, not only of patients but even of relatives, doctors, and nurses who are involved in the care of these children. Since it is not exactly possible to completely banish mothers, fathers, siblings, or a child's near kin from seeing to his or her care, we would like to suggest for the provision of temporary quarters for these relatives so that they may have someplace to retire to without unnecessarily disturbing the other patients or the hospital staff."

A hand shot up from the assembly. "Are you suggesting the provision of such quarters _within_ the hospital, Citizenness?" a doctor asked.

"I don't s'pose they'd be elsewhere," Eponine replied.

"It is another expense," the doctor sighed.

"As are all the accidents, leaky roofs and other things that were being talked about just a few minutes ago," Eponine said. "We'd also suggest that the doses and medicines prescribed by the doctors be made available in the nearby apothecaries, just so any misunderstanding or mix-up can be better prevented," she continued.

"Would any apothecary allow it?" another doctor inquired.

"I don't know, but has anyone ever asked for such a thing?" Eponine asked. The ache in her back was now just the tiniest bit more pronounced such that it was all she could do to keep a straight face even as she gripped the edge of the podium. She bit her lip before speaking again despite the relentless feeling of her spine being squeezed somewhat, a sensation that could only mean one thing in her condition. She touched her stomach protectively before speaking again. "We'd also like to suggest , or rather, agree with what has been said that there be a change in the shifts of the night staff especially, so that they may not be overtired or too busy to see to the emergencies in the wards."

An approving murmur started through the crowd as some of the delegates nodded. "Are those all of your suggestions, Citizenness?" the head of the committee asked.

"Not all, but I s'pose we'd best explain the rest on paper first before continuing," Eponine said, managing a smile as she felt the twinge in her back abate somewhat. "Perhaps the next committee meeting, Citizens?"

"Yes, that would be appreciated. We'll keep you informed," the gentleman said.

"Thank you." As Eponine made her way back to the end of the room she saw Simone watching her with wide, astounded eyes. "I have to go home," she told her friend.

"Is something wrong?" Simone whispered discreetly.

Eponine swallowed hard as she adjusted her shawl. "Simone, could you please do something for me? Combeferre and Claudine are at the Sorbonne today; could you tell them to go to my house straightaway? They'd know exactly what I mean."

Simone nodded worriedly. "Are you going to tell your husband?"

Eponine bit her lip as she tore a page out of her notebook and hurriedly pencilled something on it. She looked about and nodded to a clerk. "Could you please give this note to Citizen Enjolras? I don't care if he's in a meeting or something, but he needs to read it the moment he gets it. Tell him I'll be waiting for him at home."

"Is it something bad, Citizenness?" the clerk asked gravely as he took the note.

"No, I don't s'pose so," Eponine said, hoping to keep her tone level. '_At least not at the end of it, I hope,' _she thought more warily before heading downstairs with Simone's help to find a fiacre.

It was not unusual for Enjolras to receive correspondence in the middle of his meetings, but this time he could not help but raise an eyebrow at the folded sheet of notepaper hurriedly being handed to him. "Who is this from?" he asked the nervous, sweaty clerk.

"Your wife," the clerk stammered. "She should be on her way home by now, but she said you have to read that immediately."

Enjolras' brow furrowed at this mention of Eponine. '_I thought she promised to stay home today,' _he thought, remembering their conversation over breakfast. Clearly something had happened that had brought her to the Hotel de Ville, perhaps an emergency to do with the hearing on the hospitals. Before he could mull on this any further, he unfolded the note to reveal Eponine's frantic cursive:

_Antoine,_

_Had to be at the Hotel de Ville for a meeting-I'm sorry about that. Leaving right away since the baby is coming. Please come home as soon as you can. _

_I'll see you later._

_Eponine_

He took a moment to reread this missive to make sure of every word before he quickly pocketed the note and turned his attention back to the meeting, where Rossi was still holding on at length about a petition he was helping sponsor from the town of Cahors. As discreetly as he could he began gathering up his various notes and papers in preparation for exiting as quickly as possible from the meeting hall.

Jeanne, who was seated next to him, eyed him curiously. "You're needed elsewhere?"

Enjolras nodded. "A very urgent matter has come to my attention."

In a nearby seat, Bamatabois looked up from his note taking. "Enjolras, I hope you're not indisposed?"

"Certainly not," Enjolras replied, glancing to where someone was pulling an exhausted Rossi away from the podium. "Now if you will excuse me, I cannot afford any further delays," he added more urgently as he got up from his seat and began making his way to the door of the room.

Much to his exasperation, he could not find a fiacre in the neighbourhood of the Hotel de Ville, and in the end he had to settle for an omnibus that would pass near the area of the Odeon. '_Hopefully Combeferre and Claudine are already at the house,' _he thought as he checked his watch and found that the time was just about three in the afternoon. At the rate things were going, it was highly likely that he and Eponine would get to really meet their child by the end of the day. '_Hopefully all will be well,' _he thought, gritting his teeth as the omnibus came to a halt in the general neighbourhood of the Sorbonne. After a while it became apparent that there was some sort of difficulty involving a cabriolet that had suddenly broken a wheel in the middle of the street. From here he was forced to alight and walk the rest of the way home instead of waiting in the queue of carriages.

When he arrived at the Rue Guisarde, he caught sight of the three Thenardier boys, as well as Courfeyrac and Armand, all sitting on the stoop. On seeing him, Jacques sprang to his feet and ran up to hug Enjolras' leg. "Ponine is upstairs with Combeferre and Claudine. Is she going to be well?" he asked in a small voice, his dark eyes wide with worry and panic.

'_I wish anyone could certainly say so,' _Enjolras thought as he scooped up Jacques to give him a brief hug, not knowing what else he could do to reassure the child. He met Courfeyrac's concerned gaze, knowing very well that his friend was also mentally revisiting a similar afternoon, more than a year ago. "Do Combeferre and Claudine need anything?" he asked Courfeyrac.

"I do not think so. They haven't been down here for the past quarter of an hour," Courfeyrac said, patting little Armand's back before kissing his forehead and setting him in Gavroche's lap. He got to his feet and took Enjolras' arm to lead him to another part of the yard. "If something was going wrong, I think that they would have sent for you by now," he said in an undertone.

Enjolras managed a nod. "I'm confident that they will be able to take care of her," he said resolutely. Nevertheless this did not banish his lingering apprehension, stemming mainly from the fact that he was aware of Eponine's deep-seated fear of the ordeal of childbearing. '_She's probably remembering the day Armand was born,' _he realized, even as he heard the slightly muffled sounds of arguing and cursing from the back rooms of the second floor.

Neville winced at these noises and looked about nervously. "Does it always hurt that much to have a baby?" he asked.

"Maybe, but who knows what ladies squawk about?" Gavroche replied, clearly trying to put on a show of bravado. "She's cursing in argot. That can't be good.'"

Enjolras sighed on hearing this terse exchange. "Courfeyrac, this might be a great deal to ask, but could you please get the three of them elsewhere? They don't need to hear their sister going through this."

"Joly and Musichetta should be home by now, or at least Musichetta," Courfeyrac said.

"That would suffice," Enjolras concurred. He knew it would be a few hours yet till he could safely allow the youngsters back in the house, and in a practical sense it would not do good to deprive them of dinner or rest in the interim. "Courfeyrac will bring you to stay with Joly and Musichetta. I'll come for the three of you later," he said to the boys, crouching so that he was at eye level with them.

"But what about Ponine?" Jacques asked.

"Combeferre and Claudine will take care of her," Enjolras said, finding it took more effort than he thought to remain calm at this very moment. "Combeferre is a good doctor, and Claudine is very smart. They'll know what to do."

"Are you sure?"

"Very sure, _petit_."

Jacques nodded trustingly before scampering off to follow Gavroche down the street. Enjolras gave Courfeyrac a grateful look. "Thank you very much for this, my friend."

Courfeyrac nodded to his friend. "Don't get yourself too unsettled. You look like you'll wear a hole into the floor. Shall I return the favour from last year, and hold you down then?"

Enjolras let out a deep sigh, remembering that this had not been the kindest thing to do to Courfeyrac, regardless of Joly's orders as a physician attending to a birth. "That was ill-judged on my part."

Courfeyrac laughed before clapping Enjolras' shoulder. "Eponine is strong, so don't worry too much. I'm not saying that Paulette was any less, but I think that Eponine's tenacity means that the odds are more in your favor."

"I certainly hope so," Enjolras said, clasping his friend's arm momentarily before hurrying into the house. Since it was a very warm day he immediately set aside his coat and his cravat in the study. He knew better than to wander too close to the bedroom, so instead he busied himself with sorting through some baby clothes and linen that Eponine had stashed in a small cabinet in preparation for the new arrival. After this he set about straightening up the study, and then even going as far as checking if there was enough food in the larder for a late dinner and the next day's breakfast. All the while he could not help but still be keenly aware of the barely muffled cries and swearing coming from behind the one closed door upstairs. He could only cringe on hearing his name mixed in with some of the more choice expressions; he certainly could not expect anything less from Eponine in this situation.

Thesun had long set and the streetlamps were already lit all along the Rue Guisarde when Enjolras heard more raised voices from upstairs. "I _know_ what is proper in these situations, Francois, but that probably is the least of our worries now!" Claudine said sharply before a door slammed. In a few minutes she was on the stairway. "Enjolras, you have to come up. Eponine needs you," she said.

Enjolras felt as if something had dropped in his stomach. "Is something wrong?"

Claudine took a deep breath. "All would be well if she wasn't panicking so much. I know that she was there when Paulette died, and she's absolutely terrified that the same thing could very well happen to her," she said in an undertone. "Right now you're the only person who can calm her down."

"How am I supposed to do that?" he asked, completely bewildered at this situation.

"You know her best," Claudine said. "Never mind what Francois will have to say about your being there; if he says one word about it he's not sleeping in our bed tonight. That practice is only to prevent men from fainting at the proceedings, which I doubt you're in any danger of."

"Very well then," Enjolras said with a nod. He could feel his trepidation building as he followed Claudine back upstairs and into the room. Immediately he caught sight of Eponine curled up in bed, breathing in quick, almost frantic gasps. Her eyes were shut as if she was just recovering from a crying fit. The sight of her in this state was unsettling since he had never seen her react this way to pain, not even when she'd been shot at the barricade two years ago. Nevertheless he swallowed hard in an effort to steel himself before he sat at her bedside. He touched her cheek gently. "Eponine?"

Her eyes flew open on hearing his voice and she craned her neck to look at him. "What are you doing here, Antoine?" she choked out.

"Making sure you're well-" he began before he suddenly felt her hand grab his arm so hard that her fingernails practically tore through his shirtsleeve. He saw that her eyes were wide with agony and that she was biting her lip in a valiant effort not to scream. After a few seemingly interminable seconds her grip relaxed as she took a ragged breath. "It comes and goes?" he asked concernedly.

She nodded quickly, now unable to hold back her tears. "It's too much! I don't think I can do this! I don't know how any woman ever does this! I don't know how my mother did this _five_ times!" she sobbed.

Enjolras looked despondently to where Combeferre was watching them intently. "Is there anything we can give her for the pain?" he questioned.

"Not here. I know you're thinking of laudanum, but that would be ill advised since it will exhaust her and maybe even harm the child. There have been a few unfortunate incidents recently involving the use of that drug," Combeferre replied seriously.

Enjolras gritted his teeth as he reached for his handkerchief to wipe Eponine's face before carefully helping her turn so that she could lie more comfortably on her back. Part of him was already cursing himself for putting her in this state, but he knew better than to voice out this dire line of thought. "You're going to be fine. I'm certain of it," he said at length as he clasped her hand.

She laughed humourlessly. "That's funny of you to say that."

"I would rather not unsettle you," he pointed out.

"Oh you would not say it so easily if you and I could switch places-ow!" she yelped, squeezing Enjolras' hand harder than before.

Enjolras winced even when Eponine let go of his hand, seeing that she had come very close to drawing blood. He wiggled his fingers, trying to will some feeling back into them. "I'm going to need a splint after this," he muttered.

"Serves you right," she retorted, now breathing a little more easily.

Combeferre got up from his seat as he pocketed his watch. "That was a very short interval," he said before washing his hands in a bowl of water, taking care to use a particularly strong smelling soap. "Eponine, we need to examine you now. Enjolras, it might be advisable for you to leave the room for the time being. The sight of this can be rather...shocking."

Enjolras gave his friend a stern look. "I do not think that will be necessary."

"I s'pose he should stay so he'll remember how awful this feels!" Eponine snapped, her words coming out as an agonized shriek as another pain gripped her.

Claudine looked up from the foot of the bed and gave her friend an encouraging smile. "It's already time. A little more, and you'll get to hold your child."

Eponine bit back a whimper as she nodded. She reached for Enjolras' wrist as she met his gaze. "You're not afraid, are you?" she asked in an undertone.

"As long as you do not give me a reason to be," he said, smiling with some relief when she didn't push him away as he reached over and brushed her sweaty hair out of her face. He felt her fingers curl around his as she took a deep breath and began to bear down as hard as she could. It was plain even to him that Eponine was close to exhausted, which made him all the more resolved not to leave her side unless it was to fetch any further assistance. Judging from Combeferre and Claudine's occasional, but encouraging remarks, he figured that he was best off not observing how they were assisting with the delivery. Instead, he focused on rubbing Eponine's shoulders when she wasn't pushing, more so when he realized that this seemed to relax her greatly.

It seemed like an eternity had passed when he felt Eponine's grip tighten so hard that her knuckles went white, at the moment she let out an agonized scream before falling back on the pillows, now completely overwhelmed with pain and exhaustion. Yet a few moments later a loud cry pierced the evening quiet, a sound that could only be made by a child's safe entry into the world. Enjolras looked to see Claudine quickly wrapping a wailing, squirming form in a blanket before cutting the umbilical cord. "How is he, or she..." he trailed off awkwardly.

"She," Claudine said happily. "You two have a daughter."

Enjolras felt his breath catch in his throat as he got a better look at the red-faced, still rather wrinkled newborn. While Enjolras was no stranger to the sight of an infant, having been among the first persons to ever hold his godson in his first hour of life, it was a completely different story now that he could finally see his own daughter. It was an overwhelming, blissful feeling he could not put any words to. "Hello Laure," he whispered, daring to try the name that he and Eponine had picked out just a few weeks ago. He looked towards Eponine and grinned with relief on seeing her smile as she finally caught her breath. Although her hair was still dragging about her face and her cheeks were still flushed, he had could have sworn that she was at her most beautiful at that moment. "How are you feeling?" he asked, going over to help her sit up.

"A little sore, what do you expect?" she murmured, giving him a slightly cross but still affectionate look.

Claudine and Combeferre burst out laughing. "How tactful, Eponine. Now I believe here is a little one who has been waiting to meet you," Claudine said before handing the still crying baby to Eponine.

Eponine's eyes were glimmering with tears as she studied her child's face. "She's so beautiful," she whispered, even as she was counting the baby's fingers and toes. For a moment she buried her face in Enjolras' shoulder. "She's even more beautiful than I thought she would be!" she blurted out.

"What do you mean?" Enjolras asked, completely astonished at these words.

"I saw her. In my dreams," she said, now practically beaming even through her tears. "Her hair is going to be like yours."

"Better on her than on me," he quipped. He paused when he saw their daughter's eyes open for a few moments before scrunching up again; in those few seconds he saw that the baby's eyes were the same rich shade of brown as Eponine's. "Did you see that?" he asked, feeling his own smile widen at this sight.

She nodded before kissing his cheek and then looking back down at the child, who was now beginning to calm down. "Maman and Papa are here, Laure," she said. "It's so good to finally see you."

Enjolras looked towards Combeferre and Claudine; these two were also clearly trying to hold back their emotions at this scene. "We can't thank you enough for this."

"This time, following doctor's orders would suffice," Combeferre said candidly. "To be honest, I never thought I'd see _this_ day, Enjolras. I am glad to finally witness it," he said over his shoulder as he went to clean up his hands.

"A serious understatement," Enjolras remarked, no longer bothering to hide his own smile. It was, he decided, one of the few times that he could be sure that all was right in the world.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: An immediate follow up to the previous chapter. These Thenardier kids are too cute. _

**7: Brothers and Uncles**

"Are you sure that Ponine is going to be alright, Gavroche?"

"Didn't Enjolras say so already?"

"He said that the others knew what to do."

Gavroche scowled at Jacques' remark. "Well why are you asking me now then?"

The younger Thenardier boy shrugged before pointing to where their other brother Neville was poring through another hefty medical textbook while absent-mindedly petting their cat, which had unexpectedly followed them to their present hideaway at Joly and Musichetta's apartment on the Rue Ferou. "I don't think the book says anything either," Jacques said in a stage whisper.

Before Gavroche could shoo Jacques away, he heard the bells tolling from the church of Saint Sulpice, signifying that it was now nine in the evening. '_Which would make it about four or five hours since we first got here,' _he thought as he kicked off his shoes and glanced to where Joly was sitting with Courfeyrac and little Armand. He glanced towards the now darkened street, wondering how much longer they would all have to wait for news. At least they weren't at the Rue Guisarde, which by now would certainly be quite a tense place for anyone to be in.

"Time for some dinner, boys," Musichetta called cheerily as she set down a dish of stewed vegetables topped with sliced sausages. She paused when she noticed Gavroche's still lingering scowl. "Is something wrong, Gavroche?"

Gavroche shrugged. "Nothing."

Musichetta clucked her tongue sympathetically. "You're worried about your sister, aren't you?"

The boy looked away. "She's going to be fine."

"She's really sick like Neville was last year. Is she going to get better?" Jacques asked innocently.

"Ponine has something different. It's her stomach that's hurting, not her foot," Neville said, closing his book. "And since she's having a baby, it's not the same at all."

"You're shaping up to be the little physician," Courfeyrac joked. "But you're right, she's not sick at all."

Jacques frowned. "Then why did she have to call Combeferre and Claudine?"

"Because babies don't come as easily as that," Joly said as he wiped his spectacles.

"You're a doctor too, why didn't she call you?" Jacques asked.

"I was at the Bourbe; you know how far that is from here," Joly said quickly as he set out some bread for their meal.

Gavroche looked down, wishing that little Jacques would think twice before raising his queries. Then again, he was still too young to understand why Joly had shied away from the practice of obstetrics, or even why Eponine and Enjolras had every reason to worry about this present situation. '_He doesn't know how bad it can get,' _he thought as he trudged towards where everyone else was sitting down to dinner. It was highly possible that the potentially mortal danger of Eponine's condition had not even crossed his mind; in Jacques' view Eponine and Enjolras were the two people who could certainly surpass anything. '_If only he knew...' _Gavroche thought, remembering the various times he'd seen them wounded, despondent, or simply at a loss as to how to handle a situation. They would never be his heroes; he was far too old for that, but that didn't mean their welfare was nothing to him.

It was just as well that another question seemed to be occupying Jacques' mind. "How will we know if the baby is a boy or a girl?" he asked as everyone was putting away the dishes while Courfeyrac went to check on a now fussy Armand.

"Silly! There's no way of looking for that," Neville chided.

"Well one might make a fair guess by the shape of the woman's stomach or some of her symptoms, but it is a very inexact thing," Joly said.

"Meaning no one knows," Musichetta said. "I guess you want the baby to be a boy?" she addressed the Thenardier brothers.

Jacques and Neville nodded gleefully while Gavroche only chewed on some bread. "Someone else to play with!" Jacques said cheerily.

"Girls get funny. They talk about ribbons and laugh all the time," Neville groused.

"Well what will you do if the baby is a girl?" Musichetta teased. She laughed when she saw the younger boys grimace and groan. "What do you think, Gavroche?"

"If it's a girl, she's going to be a _mome_ in a nice dress," Gavroche quipped from behind his glass of water.

Courfeyrac and Joly burst out laughing while Musichetta shook her head. "If you have a niece you'd better treat her nicely, like a little lady..." she trailed off just before three strong knocks came from the apartment door. "That must be Enjolras now," she said as everyone sprang to their feet.

Courfeyrac reached the door first, only to burst out laughing on seeing Enjolras there, with a wide smile on his face. "I see that congratulations are in order!" Courfeyrac greeted.

"How are they doing? Is Eponine well?" Musichetta asked worriedly.

"What's the baby's name?" Neville chimed in as he scratched his cat between his ears.

"Yes, they are doing fine. Eponine is well, though she does need some rest before anyone visits tomorrow. As for the baby, her name is Laure," Enjolras replied calmly as he took a seat, but even so the happiness in his countenance was evident.

"Isn't Laure a girl's name?" Jacques asked after everyone else had given their congratulations.

Enjolras nodded. "You boys have a niece."

Jacques frowned at this bit of information. "What are you and Ponine going to do? You don't know how to take care of a girl!"

Musichetta snorted while Joly and Courfeyrac burst out laughing. "Girls are a lot quieter than boys," the seamstress said. "Anyway Eponine is a girl, I'm sure she'll know what to do with Laure."

"Ponine isn't like most of the other grand ladies," Jacques remarked. "She doesn't sit around and pretend to like everything."

This time Gavroche couldn't help laughing at this very apt description of their sister. "You wouldn't like it so much if she did," he pointed out.

Neville reached for Enjolras' arm. "Will we get to see Eponine and Laure soon?" he asked.

"Tonight. You three have to be as quiet as you can though," Enjolras said firmly. "Otherwise you're going straight to bed and you'll have to wait till morning."

"We'll be quiet, we promise," Jacques said solemnly while Neville and Gavroche nodded. After a round of thanks, questions, and pleasantries, the entire group parted ways for the evening. Courfeyrac promised to drop by the Prouvaires' apartment with the news, while Joly and Musichetta told the rest of their friends residing in the Latin Quartier, leaving the Enjolras, the three Thenardier brothers, and the cat to return to the Rue Guisarde.

As soon as they reached the house, Enjolras and the boys took off their shoes and crept upstairs in their stocking feet. Gavroche managed to reach the bedroom first and he pushed the door open a crack. "Ponine? Are you awake?" he asked in a stage whisper.

"Gavroche! Are Neville and Jacques with you?" Eponine replied, her voice a little hoarse but still strong. "Why don't you all come in?"

Gavroche opened the door and felt relief wash over him at the sight of Eponine seated up in bed, looking a little exhausted but otherwise quite well. She was cradling what appeared from afar to be a blanket wrapped bundle. "Is she asleep?" Gavroche asked.

"Just about to be, I s'pose," Eponine said with a grin, shifting to sit up more easily in bed. "Come on, say hello to your niece."

The boys hardly needed to be told twice; in a moment Jacques had scrambled onto the bed while Neville was standing on tiptoe on his good leg, holding on to the bed frame for support. Gavroche couldn't help but smile at the fact that a few added inches over the year had given him the distinct advantage of height. Even if he just stood beside the bed, he had a clear view of the infant's reddened face, her full head of golden hair, and her drowsy dark brown eyes. "She looks like _both_ of you," Gavroche said. Somehow there was something about her that seemed so vulnerable, almost enough to make Gavroche feel as protective of her as he did of his brothers.

"Why is she so wrinkly?" Neville asked.

"Are all babies really that small?" Jacques piped up.

"I s'pose you three were also that way too, but of course none of you would remember it," Eponine pointed out.

Jacques peered more intently at Laure. "Is she going to sleep all the time? When is she going to be able to play with us?"

"That's what babies do, at first," Enjolras replied even as he sat beside the bed and lightly touched the back of Eponine's neck.

Eponine gave her husband an affectionate smile before kissing his cheek. "It will take some time before she can play but even then she won't do it so roughly," she explained to her brothers. She made a 'shhh' sound as Laure began to whimper and stir. "She'll have to get a lot bigger first," she added more softly.

"And when will that be?" Jacques pressed on.

"Soon enough," Enjolras said, ruffling his hair. "Now we'd better let the ladies get some rest; it's been a long day."

"I'm not sleepy. Do we have to go to bed yet?" Neville groused.

"Well not right away. You can stay up a little longer, but be very quiet," Enjolras admonished.

The two younger Thenardier brothers nodded before mumbling 'good night' and then scampering out of the room. Gavroche hung back to take another look at Laure. "Nice going, you two have turned me into an old uncle," he quipped.

Eponine giggled while Enjolras merely raised an eyebrow. "It's not a matter of age," Enjolras said.

Gavroche shrugged. Somehow this situation felt so surreal; he was not given to daydreaming but once upon a time the more realistic part of his mind had told him that this sort of life was not for a Thenardier. '_I'd like to see what the old man thinks, especially if he finds out about Laure,' _he thought.

"Is something wrong, Gavroche?" Eponine asked at length.

Gavroche looked at her. "Are you ever going to tell Father about her?"

Eponine bit her lip and shook her head firmly. "I don't want him to have any hold on her, or even the three of you boys."

"What if he finds out?"

"I won't let him do anything all the same."

"What if she asks?"

"I s'pose I'll have to figure out what to say when that time comes."

Gavroche nodded, at least partly relieved by the fact that this day would probably be far off, and perhaps circumstances would change enough to make explanations less awkward. '_That's one time when years would be good,' _he decided silently.

He smirked as he saw Eponine yawn as Enjolras rubbed his eyes. "I'd better go. You'll both have to figure out how to get to sleep first," he said. It was all he could do not to laugh when he saw the two adults exchange knowingly resigned looks as he tiptoed out of the door.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Outtake 8. Thanks to Eruaistaniel for suggesting this little ficlet! Happy Valentine's Day to everyone. _

**8: An Everyday Billet-Doux**

The greeting cards, as they were called in the stationery shop window in the Rue Racine, cost two or three sous apiece. "It's a funny price for a painted _billet-doux_," Eponine remarked as she and Azelma looked over some of the greetings. They had been running a few errands during the lunch hour, when they had been invited by the shopkeeper to peruse these handmade curiosities.

"To be plain about it, I wouldn't pay a centime for some of them, especially the ones with these sad exaggerations of Cupid," the shopkeeper said in a whisper as he set aside a stack of badly embellished cards. He then picked up one showing a colourful pastoral scene and handed it to the young ladies. "This is a pretty one. I should find the artist of this and convince him to focus on making miniatures."

Azelma shrugged as she looked at the picture. "I could see why someone would pay two sous for a picture, but not for the verses inside of them," she said, frowning at the badly rhyming couplet gracing the card's interior.

"If all young men were as talented with words as your Citizen Prouvaire, then this sort of business would be superfluous," the proprietor said, giving her a teasing wink. "Anyway it is far less controversial than the usual messages."

"So short though," Azelma said. "I've never seen these sold in Paris before."

The shopkeeper shrugged. "They are beginning to be all the rage in England, so I hear."

Azelma shrugged at this tidbit of information. "Maybe I'll get one just to show on the mantelpiece. Jehan would like that very much. Maybe that colourful medieval fair scene there?' she asked, pointing to another of the selections.

"Ah you've found the second best piece," the proprietor quipped approvingly. "Is there anything you'd fancy, Citizenness?" he asked Eponine.

"The question is more if there is anything _he_ would fancy," Eponine replied dryly. Admittedly most of this stationery was very pretty, with floral motifs, vistas of meadows and sea sides, as well as the occasional scene from a myth or two. '_What does one give to a man who doesn't usually notice roses?' _she wondered. Had there been a sweeping historical tableau or even a plainly engraved witticism, she might have settled for that, but there was nothing so odd in the shop's quaint and even slightly trite selections.

The shopkeeper laughed. "I see he is rather fastidious?"

Azelma nudged her sister. "Ponine, won't you get anything? It's Saint Valentine's Day."

Eponine shook her head. "Perhaps not. It really is a lot to pay for a message."

"There are some here that I could give to you for a sou," the shopkeeper offered.

"I s'pose not. It wouldn't be fair either to you or the makers of these cards," Eponine said. '_Anyway I shouldn't spend a sou on something just to look at, not anymore,' _she reminded herself even as her hand wandered unconsciously to her midsection.

The shopkeeper nodded understandingly. "I hope that some other occasion may be more forthcoming," he said before going to help Azelma with her purchase.

Eponine did not say anything more, but she could not help but think a little bit more about this curiosity even when she was at work at the Rue des Macons. '_Just because I won't buy something so pretty that does not mean I cannot try a message of my own,' _she told herself as she fetched a few scraps of paper to begin drafting a letter as soon as she was finished with a series of lengthy documents. While she never considered herself as particularly eloquent, especially in comparison to her husband, she nevertheless had some confidence in her manner of prose, or at least her grammar. Yet despite all attentions to form, convention, and even occasionally rhyme, she still found herself with little more than a few paltry lines and still more crossed out passages at four o'clock, the time she usually left for home.

"Why are all these words coming out wrong?" she wondered aloud with exasperation as she tossed her pencil aside. She sighed as she looked over the rather clumsy prose; she would not dare to present this to the young man who had somehow taken a leap of faith in order to make his case very clearly to her. After a few moments she stuffed these scraps of paper into the woodstove, determined not to leave any evidence of her failed attempt at romantic correspondence.

When she met her brothers at the schoolhouse, she arrived in time to find Neville and Jacques sitting on the schoolyard fence and looking on as Gavroche and some boys were helping up a friend who had his left eye blackened and his best shirt ripped up. All the boys were covered in muck and grime. "What's all this about?" Eponine asked in consternation.

"Remi got beat up because of a girl," Neville said sagely.

"Not that way! That bully took away the note," Remi muttered.

"It's not just a note, it's a trinket!" an older boy cackled, much to the laughter of much of the group. "Yves is in love!"

"Never mind Yves," Gavroche said, slinging an arm around Remi's shoulder. "He is now qualified for the choir of parrots."

"If you get a black eye too, I'm not fixing it up," Eponine warned her brother, eliciting another round of laughter from the boys. "We'd better go home before it starts getting dark."

Neville and Jacques immediately scrambled off the fence to catch up with their siblings. "Ponine, does everyone get love letters today?" Jacques asked in a whisper as they began walking to the Rue Guisarde.

"Not if there's no one they want to write to or want to get letters from," Eponine replied.

Neville stuck his hands in his pockets. "Is Enjolras going to write you a letter?"

Eponine bit her lip at this query. In all the time she had known Enjolras, whether as a neighbor, friend, partner, lover, or spouse, she had received a number of missives from him. Not one of these messages could even be construed as remotely romantic, at least as far as language and content were concerned. The only concessions he made towards intimacy were his ending each letter with a promise to see her later, followed by signing his given name. '_It's good that he is so straightforward since there is usually no mistake to be made there, but sometimes he can try to be less prosaic,'_ she thought.

Gavroche rolled his eyes. "Silly _mome_. You know he doesn't have time to write those things."

"He should! He loves Ponine!" Jacques protested before sneezing and wiping his nose. "I know all the other big people do that. Claudine has a whole box of letters from Combeferre, and I saw Prouvaire making a song for Azelma too."

"Oh that's the way they go about things, and they are happy with that," Eponine pointed out amusedly. She bent to take a look at her brother and pressed a hand to his forehead to check for a fever. "better have some soup tonight," she said, frowning on finding his brow a little warmer than usual.

"Why aren't you and Enjolras that way?" Jacques asked as he squirmed away from her fussing over him.

"We're a little different, I s'pose," Eponine replied. '_And just because couples say sweet things, that doesn't always mean they mean anything,' _she mused grimly. Her parents had been that way; there had been a time when the laughter and caresses had been genuine, but that eventually fell apart into the cold sheets and distant glares which passed for intimacy in the Gorbeau hovel. She pinched her wrist to banish away these bitter memories which were only made sharper by the chill of the February day.

After setting her things down at home and making sure her brothers changed out of their wet shoes and clothes, Eponine headed to the market at the Marche Saint-Germain to get a few extra ingredients for dinner. The revelry of Saint Valentine's Day was ebullient, in fact almost palpable in this now lively space. Aside from the usual wares in the place, there were a few newcomers selling decorated confectioneries and bouquets of flowers, and an old musician had begun to play a lively polka on his fiddle. Of course the place was also a promenade now for couples; the more sedate pairs confined themselves to talking or eating near the stalls, while more daring duos were dancing the polka or openly flirting in the light of the streetlamps.

As Eponine was rummaging through a stall's selection of beets, she heard an outraged screech from the general vicinity of a newspaper stand. "I'm going to kill that cad when I see him! How _dare_ he publish that, that bit of paper!" one of the neighbourhood matrons sputtered, nearly crumpling a gazette in her gloved hands.

"All he wants is money, Hortense. You know what you have to do," her more sedate but nonetheless equally concerned companion said.

"He knows that I won't buy a reputation. He seeks to ruin me, that's all," the matron groaned.

"I s'pose she's been in a dreadful secret?" Eponine asked the vendor of the stall she was at.

"It's a scandal, my dear," the vendor said in a mischievous whisper. "She's been carrying on with the new commandant of the barracks!"

Eponine gave her a sceptical look. "It's terribly imprudent of him."

"That is just the beginning of it, Citizenness Enjolras. The poor colonel isn't the only man she has been carrying on with, and he's not the one who gave out that letter," the vendor cackled as she carefully tallied up how many beets Eponine had picked out. "That is what comes from keeping such love tokens; it's so improper, keeping them like reliquaries or trophies. By the way, this will all cost five sous."

"I s'pose it's a matter of sentiment," Eponine replied as she handed over the required amount.

"If she ever really loved any of the givers!" the vendor said, eyeing with distaste the woman named Hortense. She smiled more amiably at Eponine. "So when is that little one going to be born?"

"Little one?" Eponine repeated warily.

The vendor laughed softly. "I know a woman in your condition from the very sight of her. On a girl as thin as you, it's not easy to hide. I bet that it will be a son, as handsome as Citizen Enjolras is."

"Perhaps, but I shouldn't mind having a little girl either," Eponine replied glibly.

"She would be charming and dear, there is no question of it. But every man must have someone to carry on his name, and we all know that your husband has no siblings," the vendor said. She paused on seeing Eponine's eyes narrow. "It is only a matter of fact, I did not mean any offense, my dear."

"I know," Eponine replied. "And I s'pose thank you for some of it," she added a little more civilly before quitting the stall. She frowned as she looked herself over surreptitiously; if it was clear to some people now, what would happen when she would have to start letting out her clothes?

She walked quickly back to the Rue Guisarde, only to end up laughing when she entered her home. Next to the door, alongside her brothers' overcoats and hats hung a red tailcoat she only knew too well. She peered into the study and caught sight of Enjolras searching through a bookshelf. She set the basket of beets down before tiptoeing to him and quickly wrapping her arms around him from behind. "Hello Antoine," she whispered in his ear.

Enjolras started for a moment before letting out a bemused chuckle. He deftly removed one of her gloves before bringing her hand to his lips and lightly kissing her knuckles. "Hello Eponine. Where have you been?"

"Just getting some things for dinner," Eponine said as she pressed her cheek against the back of his waistcoat. She knew he couldn't see her face but she couldn't help but smile just for the simple fact that he was home and in her arms again. '_It's more than enough, so please let him always like it this way,' _she pleaded silently as she squeezed his hands before letting go of him so he could turn to face her.

Enjolras removed her other glove and brushed her hair out of her face. "I told Jacques to get to bed early. He's running a fever," he said concernedly.

Eponine sighed and nodded. "That's why I thought of making beet soup. I hope you don't mind even if we don't like it as much as he does."

"It's only for one evening," Enjolras said. "I'll sit up with him later."

"You've had a long day, Antoine, and you have sessions the whole day tomorrow as well," she pointed out. She knew all too well of the preparations he always made before the Friday assemblies; oftentimes she endeavoured to help him as best as she could if only to make sure he could get a few hours of rest.

"I'll manage. You need the rest too," he said, dropping his hands to rest on her waist. "It's that, or you'll be ill in the morning again."

"It passes. It always does," Eponine said stubbornly, even if she knew he would not drop the matter all that easily. "You worry about me too much."

"It's still my turn."

"If you had your way, it will always be."

'_At the rate we're going, we'll both end up sitting up with Jacques and maybe falling asleep at some hour all the same,' _she realized. There was no way she could ever get him to stop fretting about her welfare, no more than he could get her to do the same with regard to him. As maddening as it was, it was still comforting all the same. She smiled as she ran her fingers over his knuckles. "I s'pose we'll have to figure out something in an hour or two after you finish with your work and I do something about dinner," she finally said.

He nodded before kissing her lips lightly. "We'll negotiate then."

"Good," she said before hurrying to the kitchen, feeling somewhat steadier than any lovely sonnet could ever make her feel.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Originally written for the Barricade Day challenge of 2013. Warning: this ties into events of Chapter 72 of WAMP. _

**Mementoes**

Even though more than a week had passed since that dark day, Prouvaire expected to find Courfeyrac still distraught. _'He always feels everything deeply under all his levity'_ the poet observed as he found his friend leaning against a brick wall on the Rue de la Verrerie. "Everything well, my friend?" Prouvaire asked by way of greeting.

Courfeyrac smiled but it did not quite reach his eyes. "I'm alive at least." The mid-morning light made the street seem bucolic, almost cheerful, but a certain gloom still enveloped the dandy He was dressed rather uncharacteristically in black, which only made his usually cheery face seem even pale and gaunt.

Prouvaire winced at this forced reply. It was all he could do not to flinch when he saw that his friend was holding a small wooden box. "Those are her things?"

"Yes. I was about to put them away, but I fear that I'm cursed to always remember her," Courfeyrac said hollowly.

"She marked you," Prouvaire concurred. It wasn't usual for Courfeyrac's mistresses to leave much behind in the way of material possessions when the romance was over and done. _'Yet she was a friend as much as she was a mistress,'_ Prouvaire thought. He did not even have to peek into the box to know what was inside: a set of small hairpins, a knitted purse, two pairs of gloves, and a satin choker. After a few moments he went over to a nearby brick wall and took out his pen knife to begin scraping away at the flaking mortar there.

Courfeyrac swallowed hard as he watched Prouvaire. "Sometimes I think I never should have met her. She'd still be alive today."

Prouvaire looked up sharply. "Don't say that."

"It's the truth. I was the one who put her in this situation."

"Yes, but it was not...your hand," Prouvaire argued. He could not bring himself to say the word 'fate'; that word felt too cruel especially to describe a life cut off too soon.

"You wouldn't understand. You never killed a woman in this way."

"It wasn't you!" Prouvaire insisted. He felt the mortar give under his blade and he saw that the knife was buried in the wall almost up to the handle. He chipped away a little more of the mortar such that he could work a single brick loose, leaving a small aperture.

Courfeyrac nodded slowly at this. "Here?"

"Can you think of a better place?" Prouvaire asked. '_They did have some happy memories here, not long ago,'_ he thought. Yet it was clear by the look on his friend's face that he was back again to that dark afternoon just ten days ago, to a room of pained screams and bloodstained sheets. He saw Courfeyrac's shoulders begin to shake and he reached out to steady him. "Courfeyrac? Maybe you should sit down."

"No. I'll be fine," Courfeyrac said.

"Take all the time you need."

Courfeyrac nodded, managing a slight smile after a few moments. "She said she loved me. I think she meant it. That alone makes her far better than I am," he whispered. He took a few deep breaths before going to the hole in the wall and sliding the box in. He carefully replaced the brick, tapping it a few times for good measure. "Till we meet again," he murmured, kissing his hand and then touching it to the brick. After a while he looked at his friend. "Thank you, Prouvaire."

"Any time," Prouvaire said, knowing this was one tale far too sacred even for the best of verses.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: An outtake I've had in mind for a very long time. In which we take a look at Monique Enjolras' thoughts after her visit to Paris. Some humor and some grit. _

**10: Worse Than a Mistress**

_Aix-en-Provence_

_February 1833_

"Oh you must tell us about what happened in Paris! It takes an _age_ for news to get as far as here!"

Monique Enjolras managed a cordial smile at her neighbor Hortense's effusive greeting. '_The sixth time I've had to retell this story in an hour,' _she thought wearily as she motioned for her guest to take a seat in the crowded drawing room. The task of playing the gracious hostess was proving to be more trying than usual, if only for the fact that she and her husband Louis hardly had time to set down their traveling bags before a servant came up to them bearing the first visiting cards of the day. Nevertheless Monique knew better than to make such a paltry excuse for neglecting her social duties as the lady of the house, especially with such a warm welcome from her tight-knit circle of friends and relations.

"I do not need to tell you it's a lively stir over there, Hortense," Monique said graciously. "The elections were quite eventful-"

"That horrible thing! That was wicked of you and Citizen Enjolras to just go off like that, leaving the de Bracys completely embarrassed and unable to win the seat for the legislature here," Hortense cut in as she fanned herself. "I'm not really sorry for it."

'_Who is?' _Monique wanted to say but she covered her mouth at the last moment. There was no telling which one of her gossipy neighbors would make much of this simple remark. "I'm glad that there wasn't much trouble here," she finally said.

"There was no trouble since it was too quiet," Hortense grumbled. "But as I was asking, how was Paris? Did you get to see Lafayette?"

"Only from afar, at the proclamation of the winners of the election. Two of the legislators are from the _Radicaux_ party, two more from the middle line party the _Democrates_, and one from the Constitutionalists' party."

"Did you get to go to any salons?"

"If you mean talking to Citizenness Recamier and her coterie, then no," Monique said. The very mention of the old guard of Parisian society was a little irritating; while she had no quarrel with this set of people, she certainly was not an intimate enough to be invited to their gatherings. "I do have other people I wish to see," she added, seeing Hortense's disappointed look.

"Ah yes, how is your son doing?" another voice cut in. Monique turned to see yet another neighbor, Sabine, sipping a cup of tea near the fireplace. "I heard that he is now the youngest in the entire legislature, and not just in Paris?"

Monique nodded. "He isn't the only legislator under the age of thirty. He has two other colleagues who are only a year or two his senior." It was only a matter of time till the discussion would go in this direction, and would certainly persist in this vein regardless of anyone's efforts to restore the conversation's flow towards other less volatile topics. '_I can never keep Antoine's name out of these conversations,' _she thought ruefully, seeing the sudden liveliness of the debutantes and their mothers who were milling about the room.

In a sense, she knew that this situation was partly of her own making. Up until fairly recently, one of her main concerns had been arranging a match for her only child. Years of mentioning his name to every young lady of quality in their circle, as well as writing to her son about the charms and graces of these women had only resulted in nearly every girl sighing and swooning over one of Aix's most eligible bachelors, all the while increasing Antoine's famed aloofness towards the fairer sex. '_More so now since his being one of the up and coming statesmen only makes him seem more dashing to these chits here,' _Monique thought ruefully.

"Who would have thought that such a bookish boy would turn out to be so charming?" Sabine said fondly. She clucked her tongue at a statuesque but pallid young blonde standing near her, her twenty year old daughter Rosalie. "Stop blushing there, you're being far too obvious."

Rosalie cringed and hid her face in her sleeve. "Maman, I wasn't thinking of anything!"

"Rosalie, stop being such a hypocrite. Every girl here is half in love with him," another debutante by the name of Elvire chimed in. Unlike her friend, Elvire was brunette and spry, with more than enough energy for her compact frame. She smiled widely at Monique. "So how is he?"

"He's doing very well," Monique said. "He will be very busy now, so he will hardly be at parties or soirees even if he's always invited to them."

Rosalie sighed deeply. "Such a shame!"

"He should try going every now and then; it's not fitting for a man to be in such a political situation and yet unattached," Hortense remarked. "It would keep him away from those grisettes and shopgirls who will certainly be throwing themselves at him."

"Cousin, I don't think it's those sorts of girls that young Antoine Enjolras should be worried about," Sabine said darkly. "Those horrible bluestockings will be meddling in his work if he's not careful, and probably do even worse."

Monique shook her head. "If you are referring to the _ladies _who are active in the political parties, then I can assure you that he has nothing to fear from them," she said.

"So the rumors aren't true?" Elvire asked eagerly.

"What rumors?" Rosalie asked.

"Rosalie, really, you don't know?" Elvire said. "He's supposedly taken up with some harridan named Ninny or something like that, but I think her name starts with an E…"

"Her name is Eponine. Eponine Thenardier," Monique corrected.

At this, the drawing room fell silent, almost as if Monique had uttered the vilest cuss word in either French or Occitan. Of course this name was known to even the less astute women in the room; the publications of the _Radicaux_ party were being widely circulated even in the furthest reaches of the Midi, and much conjecture was made regarding the authors of the various tracts, especially the one concerning the rights of women. '_People really do have short memories; it's not as if this is the first time any woman has dared to put her thoughts into print,' _Monique thought exasperatedly.

Hortense recovered first, if only thanks to the effort of fanning herself. "So you've met the girl?" she asked, her voice low with trepidation.

"I have. Louis and I invited her to dine with us," Monique said amiably. She paused to make sure that everyone would hear her next words. "Naturally, as a mother, I would want to get to know the person that my son is closest to."

All remaining color drained from Rosalie's face while Elvire gasped before rushing over to be consoled by some of her equally aghast friends. Hortense only fanned herself faster while Sabine stared at Monique. "So there is an….understanding between them?" Sabine asked slowly.

"Yes. It is a perfectly decorous one," Monique replied, no longer hiding her irritation at this reaction.

"At least it is a lot better than having other preferences, "another matron muttered. "You never know what sinful notions these young men pick up in Paris!"

"Let's not speak of such conduct here!" Hortense snapped. She set down her fan as she looked curiously at their hostess. "She must be quite witty and charming to attract him, considering that she isn't a renowned beauty."

"I have mentioned before that Antoine is rather particular in his choices; it is not easy to catch his attention or retain it," Monique said more calmly. Inwardly she had to admit that to some degree Hortense's comment was correct. There was no way that Eponine could ever be considered a traditional beauty; she was too tall and willowy for her age, she had reddish hair that never seemed to completely stay in place, her complexion was rather tanned, and her hands were scarred and callused. Yet even from their first encounter, Monique also saw a certain fire and courage in Eponine's manner, one that surpassed the charm and vivacity of this assembled group. '_Antoine certainly sees far more than just that,' _she thought as she met her guests' astounded expressions with a challenging look of her own.

Hortense picked up her fan again. "Well since she is a political sort, he's chosen rightly then," she said more pleasantly. "A perfect partner for a young legislator."

Monique had to keep a straight face at Hortense's jibe, more so when she saw how Rosalie colored with embarrassment while Elvire cringed with disgust. For a moment she wondered what had possessed her to ever think that either one of these girls was good enough for her son. Rosalie's simpering manner would not do in the halls of power, and Elvire's haughtiness could only bring about disaster. The rest of their acquaintances were hardly any better, or in fact were much worse. '_Louis was right, I should have left Antoine to his own devices in this matter,' _she thought as the talk suddenly shifted towards some new hairstyles being suggested by the latest edition of _Le Follet_.

She knew better though than to be lulled into believing that this would be the last she'd hear of the matter. She only had to wait for some of her guests to start a game of cards or seek some refreshments before Sabine pulled her aside. "Monique, you know I only mean well when I say that I hope you or your husband can talk your son out of this match," Sabine said in an undertone.

"Antoine is old enough to choose his intimates, and wise enough to remain in good company," Monique retorted. "I trust his judgment in this matter."

Sabine shook her head. "He's a young man. Men are apt to forget all good sense when caught up in such a passion."

"If Antoine had chosen someone else, you would certainly not be voicing these objections," Monique pointed out.

"What is wrong with choosing someone from here? You know how my daughter and my niece are fond of him," Sabine griped. "Don't you want a daughter-in-law who is known to your family, who will have no trouble getting along with your relations?"

Monique burst out laughing. "If you remember anything of my nephews and nieces, you would know that a quiet addition to the family would only be overwhelmed by their being outgoing." The Enjolras clan, or at least that branch of it that had left the Loire behind to settle in Aix, was respected in town but also the source of some controversy. In fact part of the political chaos prior to the elections could be ascribed to the bravado and antics of some of the younger members of the clan.

Sabine sighed deeply. "You only have one child-"

"I have three. Don't you forget that," Monique cut in tersely. Of course she never could mention to Antoine that he was in truth the youngest of her brood, that there should have been two sweet girls before him but somehow she had not been able to carry them long enough in her womb. That did not mean she still did not carry them in her memory.

"Three then, but nevertheless he is your only son," Sabine argued. "Surely you want him to end up with an acceptable woman, someone who would help carry your family's good name?"

"What I want is for my son to be happy," Monique retorted. She only had to remember what she and Louis had seen when they found Antoine and Eponine at the Hotel de Ville. They had arrived the moment that Lafayette had announced that Antoine had won for the position of the representative from the Latin Quartier. Monique could only watch as her son took the news silently and closed his eyes as if to let it all sink in, or perhaps to conceal some rightful trepidation. Then Eponine had taken his hand and whispered something to him, something that was enough to bring that confident, brave smile back to his face. '_It was whatever she said about it that mattered more than anything else,' _she recalled.

Sabine was smirking, apparently triumphant at seeing Monique silenced. "How can you be so sure of that?" she asked, almost as if she was gloating. "In the end she cannot be a good wife for him. and that's not even mentioning her background, he fact that she has three brothers to take care of-"

"He loves her," Monique replied.

"And what does love have to do with it? Men love their mistresses," Sabine taunted. She crossed herself as if to banish this scandalous thought. "Surely you cannot be hoping to consider this Citizenness Thenardier as your daughter-in-law."

"To be perfectly frank, that would please me greatly, more than any other prospect for him," Monique replied acidly.

"We shall see. You know how young men are with their fancies," Sabine said. "For all your sakes, I hope it stays at that."

"And I hope for his sake it doesn't," Monique muttered. '_If only to save him from having such a mother-in-law, '_she thought before going upstairs, already composing her next round of letters to send to Paris.


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Another story from Aix, but this time it's Louis' POV. We get to meet more of the family here. Quite lengthy as Louis is a chatty muse. _

**11: The Art Of Good News**

As far as Louis Enjolras was concerned, the house that his grandparents built in the town of Aix was far too large even for two generations of the family to reside in. '_Nevertheless it does not seem to be a hindrance to entertaining,' _he thought on the morning of May 25, 1833 as he headed to the orchard towards the rear of the manor's sprawling grounds. Even this far from the house, he could still hear the cacophony of raised voices that only the presence of three of his siblings, fifteen of his nephews and nieces, a few in-laws and some grand-nieces and nephews could cause. He winced at the harsh sounds of a few male voices cursing each other in Occitan; sometimes he wondered if these regular family luncheons were only a paltry attempt to fill the house with some sort of amiable life, especially in the absence of the one youngster that Louis missed dearly.

The patriarch of the Enjolras clan sighed wryly as he sat down under a peach tree. If he squinted a little, he could almost imagine himself twenty years ago when he and his son Antoine would often go out here to practice fencing, to talk of books, or more rarely, simply to play. '_He would do well to remember even a little of that,' _Louis thought as he surveyed the tree's branches, looking for fruit. In a few months it would be time for the harvest again; perhaps then he would send some of this bounty to his son as a sort of treat for him, or if not, for his odd household. '_That, along with the citrons,' _he decided before turning towards the sound of hurried footsteps approaching the orchard. It took him a moment to discern the identity of the raven haired young man running with his hat and cravat askew "Something the matter, Henri?" he asked his nephew.

Henri stooped to catch his breath before looking at Louis. "Uncle! You have to come back to the house right away," he said. "Marc has gotten into a tiff with one of the de Bracys again."

Louis gritted his teeth if only to keep from swearing under his breath. "Over what this time?"

Henri looked down, appearing for a moment like a chastised child than the muscular man he really was. "I set him, Christophe, and Blanche to decorating the front yard with the cockades. I did forget that the de Bracys would be home today-"

"Now you can join me in trying to bring back more peace to this neighbourhood," Louis said, wondering what had possessed his nephew to set the more belligerent members of the clan in direct sight of their prickly neighbours. '_I hope at least that they put more red in the cockades than blue,' _he thought as he dusted off his trousers. While he detested the prospect of yet another brawl in his street, he had no qualms about showing his family's political colors, albeit literally.

Henri sighed as he looked around the orchard. "It's a shame that Antoine won't be able to come here even for the summer; it is expected to be a most clement one this time."

Louis smiled ruefully; Henri had been Antoine's confidant during their years in boarding school, and as far as he knew the two young men still corresponded fairly regularly. "His work in the legislature is demanding, more than even he expected. But I am sure he would appreciate a visit in Paris."

Henri shook his head. "I cannot leave the shop to run itself and I certainly can't expect Brigitte to manage alone with the girls."

The older man snorted sympathetically at the mention of his nephew's capricious wife and colicky children. "If you ever need assistance, just so you can go on a holiday, you know that your aunt and I will be more than happy to help."

"Thank you, but I wish I could say that Brigitte would appreciate it as much as I would," Henri said resignedly. He paused, as if trying to figure out how to phrase another query. "Antoine is lucky though to be attached to that young lady Citizenness Thenardier."

"He's told you about her?" Louis asked with mild surprise.

"Briefly; she inevitably figures in his stories, and anyway it's not a secret to the presses," Henri said with a grin. "She's the first woman he's ever mentioned in _any_ sense. The first time he even brought up her name in his letter, I had to read it twice to make sure that I was not falling victim to some forgery or practical joke!"

Louis chuckled as he wiped his hands on his trousers. "What do you make of it?"

Henri paused for a moment. "He has a high regard for her. I heard that Aunt Monique already thinks of her almost as a daughter?"

Louis smirked. "I am glad that she _isn't_ a daughter; I'd rather have her as a daughter-in-law." He paused as a screech came from the general direction of the house. "Ah, we'd better prevent the bloodshed," he muttered before he and Henri hurried back to the manor.

They arrived in the front hall just in time to find a dozen people already there, all haranguing each other. Louis rapped the doorjamb several times to call everyone's attention. "Can _one_ person explain what is going on here?" he asked loudly.

One of the older women, his eldest niece Jeannette, glared at one of the younger boys in the group before looking at Louis. "Marc was beating up one of the de Bracy boys."

"He was being offensive," Marc muttered from where he was trying to staunch a split lip. "Uncle we can't let them get away with being so insulting-"

"Yes, but you are lucky that the lip and that shiner on your eye was all you were dealt with," Louis reprimanded. "What is the rest of the commotion all about?"

"Aunt Monique is looking for you, she says it's almost time for lunch!" one of his other nieces, Blanche, said shrilly.

"Vincent wants to borrow money again!" another young man muttered, elbowing his older brother.

"You're not supposed to mention that, Michel!" the man named Vincent snapped.

One of the young girls stood on tiptoe, holding up a sheaf of envelopes. "Uncle Louis, the mail arrived!"

Louis rubbed his temples. "Thank you Suzanne," he said as his niece handed over the letters. He quickly sifted through the pile, carefully setting aside some business letters and other sundry. At last he found one particular missive that was a little wrinkled from travel. He carefully smoothed out the letter before opening it, frowning slightly at the brevity of the message. '_When will Antoine learn to be as conversant in his correspondence as he is in person?' _Louis wondered with fond exasperation as he went to the window to better read the letter. Sometimes it still puzzled him that such a renowned political orator could be frustratingly laconic when it came to more personal matters.

Louis put on his spectacles and flattened the letter on the sill before reading these words penned in a smooth, flowing, and slightly hurried hand.

_May 12, 1833_

_Rue J. J. R, Paris_

_Father,_

_I trust that you and Mother are well and safe as you read this letter. It is good that the developments here in Paris have not had serious repercussions in Aix, apart from the belligerence of our neighbors. It would seem that the incorrigibility of the deputies here has found root and kindred even as far as the borders; the time for violence may be over but the verbal tussles may persist indefinitely in every Assembly._

_Much of the ongoing discussion is about the upcoming celebration of the June Days, at least as the larger newspapers have been referring to them. I entreat you to keep any household celebration simple; this is not the time for extravagance whether funded by the State or some large entity. I would not describe the festivities here in Paris as subdued in the strictest sense of the word, but much has been removed in the way of pageantry so as not to disrupt too greatly the usual pattern of everyday life and to avoid any unnecessary expenses. There is not to be any public declaration of any new decree, and absolutely no repetition of the Feast of the Supreme Being or Reason or whatever idol; the churches will still be encouraged to hold their daily Masses. There will be a commemoration for those who gave up their lives in last year's fighting. As to the rest of the revelry, that is still up for debate, but I am firm in my contention that this celebration be an honorable memorial as opposed to a midpoint to a bacchanalia._

_Those matters aside, it would please you both very greatly to know that Eponine and I have decided to marry. We have already obtained her father's consent, and the wedding is set for August 4. I would like to assure you, for your peace of mind, that the brevity of this engagement is not due to any sort of complication, but it is owing to our personal preferences and the fact that we will be very busy for the remainder of the summer in preparations for all the sessions and conventions in September. Gavroche, Neville, and Jacques will also be returning to their classes then, and that will be another matter to contend with. I hope that regardless of this short notice, that you and Mother will be present for the celebration. It would mean a great deal._

_Please send my regards to my cousins and feel more than free to share the news that I have just conveyed. I hope to receive your reply soon._

_Your son,_

_Antoine_

Louis read the letter once more, if only to ascertain that he had not lapsed into some incredulous waking dream. "God in heaven be praised, Antoine has finally done it!" he exclaimed.

"Antoine has finally done what?" Henri asked.

Louis only grinned by way of reply as he carefully folded up the note and pocketed it. "I have to talk to your aunt first," he said. '_For once I will not mind making an extended visit to Paris,' _he thought gleefully as he made his way to the library, where he knew Monique was looking for a book. He found her seated by the window, perusing a pamphlet. For a moment he surveyed her perfectly composed form; she had put up her hair in two knots as per the latest fashion, but was wearing one of her sensible day dresses. '_Now to ruin this pretty picture,' _he thought as he cleared his throat and stepped towards her.

Monique clucked her tongue knowingly at Louis when she caught sight of him. "I was worried I'd have to send a search party for you. What was that bustle all about?"

Louis looked down to allow himself a moment to adopt a serious expression. "My darling, I have some striking news all the way from Paris."

Monique sat up straighter. "Has something happened to Antoine?" she asked in a low voice.

"I think you should read his words on the matter," Louis said in a level tone as he handed the letter to Monique. He watched as Monique's brow furrowed for a few moments before her eyes went wide and her jaw dropped. He only had a moment to put his fingers in his ears before his wife out an ear-splitting scream and jumped out of her seat.

Instantly the library door flew open. "Aunt Monique! What's happened?" Henri asked concernedly over the din of all of his cousins running into the room.

"I cannot believe it-" Monique gasped before glancing at the letter again and shoving it into Louis' face. "I thought for a moment it was something terrible, you horrible man! Why did you have to go tell me like this?"

Henri blanched as he looked at his uncle. "Tell her about what?"

Louis glanced at Monique, who was fanning herself, before looking to the crowd that Henri had brought with him. '_Of course this sort of news deserves an audience,' _he thought as he took a deep breath. "We're going to Paris this summer."

Henri's jaw dropped while the rest of the group looked at each other confusedly. "Why, what's there to do in Paris?" Marc scoffed.

"Visit cousin Antoine, what else?" Suzanne drawled. "Is he well?"

"More than well!" Monique finally said. "He's getting married!"

These words elicited cheers as well as gasps of shock. "To who?" another nephew, Philippe, sputtered.

"Philippe, where have you been for this past hour, or for that matter, this past _year?" _Henri said. "There is only one woman-"

"You mean _her_? That Parisian?" Philippe said. "How is that ever going to work?"

Blanche rolled her eyes. "Antoine is more than half Parisian himself by now." She smiled at Louis. "When in the summer is the wedding going to be?"

"August four," Louis replied.

"So soon! Why, that's hardly any time to plan anything!" Blanche exclaimed. "What sort of wedding is that going to be?"

"The sort for legitimacy's sake," Vincent muttered only to be cuffed by Henri. "Why, what reason would he have otherwise?'

"Don't be rude, Vincent!" Jeannette upbraided him. Nevertheless her eyes were aghast as she looked at Louis. "But there isn't...you know what I mean?"

"Jeannette, I believe your aunt and I raised Antoine to do better than that, and anyway you know he cannot afford such a risk to his reputation or to that of his fiancée," Louis said sternly. He looked again at Monique, who'd taken her seat again. "Should I fetch you some smelling salts?"

"No. Paper. I need a lot of paper because I _have_ to congratulate them right away," Monique said.

"Congratulate-what, you cannot actually mean that you and Uncle Louis approve?" Jeannette whispered with horror.

"It doesn't matter. Antoine is already twenty-six-" Henri began.

"Almost twenty seven really," Blanche coughed.

Henri nodded at this correction. "That means he's already in his majority like most of us here are, and therefore he can have his own say in marriage or avoiding it," he said.

Louis rapped one of the nearby desks three times to get everyone's attention. "The question isn't one of approval, it's of welcoming," he said, looking particularly at Jeannette and Vincent. "Henri is right; my approval or Monique's approval isn't needed. Nevertheless I am more than happy to welcome Eponine Thenardier into our family. I ask that you will not be maleficent in this matter."

Vincent rolled his eyes while Jeannette only sighed. "At least I will be spared the trouble of receiving her for some time," she muttered.

"Why should it be trouble?" Henri asked.

Jeannette sniffed. "A Parisian in Provence! Such a thing will not do!"

Monique rolled her eyes. "Such an outdated idea! And who said they'd be moving here anyway?"

"They'll have to do it eventually," Jeannette griped.

Louis shook his head. '_This town is too small for them,' _he mused. An idea came to mind with regard for the perfect wedding present but he pushed it aside, knowing he would have to discuss this rather expensive matter with Monique first. "Have I made myself clear?" he finally asked.

"Perfectly so," Vincent said resignedly.

"Thank heavens!" Monique said, looking up from where she was no rifling through the desk drawers. "Now where did we keep the stationery?"

"Monique, you could at least save me a sheet or two for my reply," Louis laughed, knowing of his wife's tendency to write voluminous letters.

"I'll give you three," Monique said sweetly.

Louis smirked knowingly. "I'll give you one sheet, Henri. I know you cannot wait to convey your congratulations either," he said to his nephew.

Henri bowed. "Thank you, Uncle."

"Wait, why does Henri get one sheet? What will the rest of us write on?" Blanche complained.

Louis rolled his eyes, already dreading the impending debate regarding paper. '_Better than other reactions,' _he decided as he searched his desk for a box of his best note paper, now that he finally had the best occasion to use it.


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: To round out the headcanons and outtakes about Louis and Monique, here is a cute one, but a little long and sad at some point. Then we're going next into an arc about Jehan/Azelma. _

**12: A New Station In Life**

"I'm sure they can manage without us for a day, Monique. You need to stop fretting."

Louis knew that this remark would earn him a petulant glare from his spouse, but nevertheless he kept a straight face. "You came to Paris to enjoy yourself and visit them, not get more gray hairs."

"We're here to help out," Monique said curtly as she sat up straight in the rattling carriage. "You have _no_ idea how overwhelming it is to be a new mother, and I am sure that Eponine would appreciate having some support."

"_Some_ support," Louis reiterated. "Which Antoine, the boys, and of course all their friends certainly will see to. We need not call on them every single day during our visit."

"I can't believe you're this aloof about the fact that our first grandchild will be here soon!"

Louis sighed as he rolled up his sleeves; it was far too hot a day even for summer, and once again he was wondering why he'd agreed to take this day trip to Pateaux with two friends, the Duvals , who were throwing a small party in their rest house. '_Damned if I do, damned if I don't. Either I get restless staying in the city, or Monique goes crazy by stepping out of it,' _he thought. He dearly wished to stretch his legs for a little bit in the suburbs, something not so easily enjoyed when dealing with a fractious wife. He glanced over to where Monique was tapping the seat agitatedly, her wedding ring producing a slight clinking sound whenever it struck against the wooden armrest. "They'll be fine," he reiterated.

Monique only rolled her eyes as she looked back out the carriage window. "Try being a mother. And remember you have to be a father too."

Louis snorted, knowing that there was no use in pursuing this argument, and instead he occupied himself with checking that his watch was properly wound and taking in his own share of the scenery. It was only ten in the morning, which meant that he would have to put up with at least six more hours of this terse state till they could return to their lodgings. '_And six hours more of questions,' _he thought, noticing how the Duvals were now gossiping between themselves.

"I do not see why we were not invited to your son's wedding last year," Fernand Duval said to Louis. "I heard it was a very grand occasion and I dearly wish we would have seen it."

"My son and daughter-in-law had many guests to also invite, and besides you were free to send your congratulations or call on them at any time after," Louis said affably. '_Though why they would merit an invitation is beyond me; Antoine and Eponine do not even know them except by face,' _he thought.

"I hardly see what would have been the problem," Morgance Duval retorted. "From what I gather the bride hardly had any family attending, and your side was quite lacking too."

"All of Eponine's siblings attended. As for our side, well I would think it would be a serious imposition for a young couple to entertain twelve uncles and aunts, nineteen cousins, and various in-laws and nineteen nephews and nieces, and six grandnephews and grandnieces, on top of everyone else!" Monique said. "Besides there will also be other family occasions, and less frenetic ones at that."

"Such as christenings," Fernand said. "Now you will have a grandson to finally carry on the family name."

"Or a granddaughter who Monique will take much pleasure in spoiling," Louis quipped.

The Duvals burst out laughing. "That would be adorable, but what use would you have for a granddaughter, at least till her own wedding day?" Fernand asked. "A fine, fat baby boy who is the spitting image of his father! That is the way to go!"

"I already have enough grandnephews to ensure some sort of continuity, so I would be just as happy with a granddaughter who is as brilliant as her mother," Monique pointed out.

"What are they going to name the child?" Morgance chimed in, hoping to defuse another argument. "Hopefully they will name him after someone in the family."

"I think they are keeping that a surprise," Monique replied a little thinly at this impetuous inquiry. "But certainly there will be no duplications of names. That can get confusing after a while."

"I did tell them to keep it practical," Louis said gleefully.

"How?" Morgance asked.

"I advised that they pick a name that they can still stand to listen to or utter even after a whole day of yelling it in the most reprimanding tone possible," Louis answered.

Fernand burst out laughing while Morgance looked on in horror. "That hardly leaves any choices, or at least those that are dignified enough!"

"One can't afford to get tongue tied in their household," Louis said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"But what will people say to such a child going around with a commonplace name?" Morgance asked.

"Morgance, that problem will settle itself enough when the child is old enough. And anyway there are sobriquets," Monique said, rubbing her temples. She took a deep breath as the carriage lurched to a stop outside a shop. "That took long enough!"

Louis discreetly slipped a look at his watch, and nearly groaned when he saw that only a quarter of an hour had passed. '_She'd better become less anxious when we return to Paris later,' _he thought, resisting the temptation as he, Monique, and the Duvals made their way to the Duvals' villa a little way from the roadside. Hopefully the rest of the day would have enough diversions to keep Monique's mind from hovering too much over what could be happening in Paris in their absence.

Fortunately for him the scenery and conversation at Pateaux proved to be satisfactory enough for Monique's spirits to be lifted, even if at times Louis wished he could put his ears to a grindstone whenever the talk turned too much towards gossip and fashion. The day passed quickly enough, and after supper Louis and Monique made their way back to their lodgings near the Tuileres , too tired to do much else but make a quick toilette before falling into bed.

It only seemed like a few seconds had passed before Louis suddenly heard the apartment door fly open, followed by excited footsteps and the sudden yanking at his coverlet. "Louis, you great fool! We shouldn't have left Paris yesterday!" Monique shrieked, holding up a note.

"Why?" Louis asked, blearily rubbing his eyes.

"We missed the birth of our granddaughter," Monique said irately, half shoving the note into Louis' face. "Yesterday evening, really. I knew we shouldn't have stayed at Pateaux for dinner!"

Louis burst out laughing, both for the happy news as well as Monique's cross expression. "Unless your extensive skills also extend to midwifery, I doubt we could have been of much help. You know that Antoine and Eponine have _two_ friends who are physicians, and I am sure that they made the proper arrangements," he drawled as he sat up in bed. He unfolded the short note, which was in Antoine's steady hand.

_August 16, 1834_

_Rue Guisarde_

_Dear Father and Mother,_

_I hope this missive finds you well. You will be happy to know that Laure Enjolras was born yesterday at 8:45 in the evening. Eponine is recovering well. We hope that you will be able to visit soon. _

_Your son,_

_Antoine_

He looked up to see Monique already searching for a dress to wear. "Louis, come on, we have to visit them some time!" she upbraided him.

"My dear, perhaps we should get breakfast or even luncheon, and let the sun rise higher in the sky before we go there. It would be rude and inconvenient to visit before they are ready for it," Louis said as he got out of bed and began searching for his shoes.

"Don't you want to see your granddaughter?" Monique asked exasperatedly as she pulled out a fichu to match her blue dress. "It's already past ten in the morning!"

"Yes, but I seem to recall that for _three days_ after Antoine was born, you did not want to receive any visitors, and I also had much to deal with thanks to our very enthusiastic relations," Louis pointed out. "We ought to give them a little opportunity to recoup somewhat."

"That was only because we had _all_ your siblings hovering about, not to mention my own parents!"

"How many people live at the Rue Guisarde again, and how many of them are in any position to actually care for a newborn?"

Monique's jaw dropped for a moment before she sighed as if reflecting more on this question. "Well for years I thought I would _never_ be a grandmother. I didn't even know if Antoine would live to see another birthday at the rate he was going. So please, allow me a little enthusiasm," she said at length.

The word 'grandmother' brought Louis up short. '_Well that means I'm a grandfather too,' _he realized. It was one thing to care for his six grandnephews and grandnieces; in fact he was very fond of them, but having a direct grandchild, especially a granddaughter, was a whole new challenge. '_How does one go about it when one is far away most of the time?' _he wondered silently as he also began to get dressed for the day. Perhaps he would have to find some ways to visit Paris more and more often.

After some discussion, it was agreed that they would eat breakfast first, and then make a quick visit to the market for some small gifts. It was such that it was already past two in the afternoon when they made their way to the Rue Guisarde. '_Unfortunately it is also the visiting hour,' _ Louis realized when he saw that the front door was open, a sure sign of other guests being entertained. He noticed the three Thenardier boys, Navet, and a few other friends climbing the large acacia tree in the front yard. "Looking for something?" he called up to them, seeing that little Neville had what appeared to be a spyglass.

Neville signed for them to be quiet. "The birds might fly off!"

"Aw stop looking for pigeons, Neville! There's more fun with the old rags walking about," Navet shouted down to him.

"Gavroche, who else is visiting?" Monique called to the oldest Thenardier boy.

"Only the hens and they are all upstairs with Ponine and the baby," Gavroche replied.

"What about Antoine?"

"He's tied up with some papers."

Louis smirked, already guessing that this wasn't the case. "You go on upstairs with the ladies, Monique. I have to speak with Antoine about something," he said to his wife.

"Well don't take too long," Monique admonished before heading straight to the second floor.

In the meantime Louis quietly made his way to the study, where as he expected, he found his own son dozing at his desk. He went over and shook the young man's shoulders. "Antoine, you'll get a stiff neck sleeping that way," he admonished.

Antoine blinked before cringing for a moment as he realized who had woken him up. "How long have you been here, Father?" he asked as he sat up, clearly trying to retain some dignity.

"I only just arrived. Your mother is upstairs; I do hope she won't cause such a fuss," Louis said gently. "You have other guests?"

"Only Musichetta. Joly should be here soon."

"I expected more of your friends would come."

"They've been in and out the whole day. You missed the Pontmercys and the Prouvaires by a few minutes," Antoine said. He glanced down at his still unfinished paperwork. "I'll only put these away-"

"Those files won't flee on their own accord," Louis said more firmly, noticing the pallor in the young man's face and the slightly dark hollows under his eyes. "I've brought some refreshment. You look like you've been up all night and all day."

Antoine only smirked, a sign that this probably wasn't too far from the truth. Louis knew better than to say anything to this but he only followed his son into the kitchen, where they sat down for some coffee in addition to some pastries that Louis had brought. '_I wish my own father could have sat with me like this all those years ago,' _Louis couldn't help thinking. "I hope that the birth wasn't too hard on Eponine?" he asked a little cautiously. Even though it had been nearly twenty-eight years since Louis himself had been the worried father sitting outside the birthing room, the frightening memories were still too vivid for comfort and he hoped that his son had been spared a similar terror. '_Monique almost died after losing the first two, and it was a close call too when she was carrying Antoine,' _he recalled.

"It was more exhausting for her than anything else, but she got through it well enough," Antoine said in a level tone. "Why do you ask?"

Louis sighed deeply, wondering if he should divulge what was on his mind. Yet his only surviving child was a father now, and perhaps it was finally time to drive a certain point home. "Haven't you ever wondered why you're an only child, Antoine?"

"Sometimes, but given how many cousins were always around at home, it never seemed to matter."

"Your mother and I wanted to have many children. We tried for quite a while before you came along. Five years."

Antoine nodded slowly. "There were complications," he said, stating it as if he knew and was not merely making a guess.

"Certainly. Had God willed it, you would have had two older sisters," Louis replied. "After you were born, the doctors all advised that we refrain from having more children since another pregnancy would have put your mother in her grave before her time. I did not want to take such a risk."

Antoine looked down, clearly startled by this revelation. "That explains some things," he finally said. "Why are you mentioning this?"

"You're a father now. You ought to know," Louis said. He knew that Antoine was wise enough to understand the rest of the weight behind this revelation. He waited for a few moments for the younger man to finish his coffee before moving on to a lighter topic. "So is Laure's hair golden or is it red?"

This time Antoine cracked a small smile. "Golden. That aside, she takes more after Eponine."

"She'll be quite formidable if she takes after either of you in terms of temperament," Louis said. "I take that you and Eponine intend to give her the same education as the boys have?"

"Of course. I do not see why there should be any difference, except perhaps in preparing for a future profession, and that will depend on whatever options will be feasible at that point," Antoine said.

"Until the higher institutions admit women pupils, your daughter's brilliance will be severely constrained," Louis said ruefully. "But given how swiftly things are changing, her becoming the first woman lawyer in France will not be far-fetched."

"Should she be inclined to the legal field," Antoine pointed out. He checked his cup for any remaining coffee before giving his father a serious look. "It may be quite some time till Eponine and I can bring Laure and the boys to Aix and meet the rest of the family, but I hope that at least you and Mother can visit from time to time."

"You didn't need to ask, Antoine. I daresay some of your cousins may want to visit soon," Louis said.

Antoine nodded and turned towards the sound of footsteps approaching the kitchen. "Did you need something, Musichetta?" he asked.

"I've been sent to confiscate these and also to summon you both upstairs," Musichetta replied lightly as she picked up the mostly untouched plate of pastries.

Louis let out a mock dramatic sigh, knowing this was partly because of Monique's insistence. All the same, who was he to turn down an opportunity to meet his grandchild? "You had better get used to being at the beck and call of a lady. I know you and Eponine are equals, but Laure will have you wrapped around her little finger," he said in an undertone to Antoine as they followed Musichetta upstairs.

"She already has!" Musichetta quipped. "Well it's happened in some way or another to every young man I know who's become a father, but on you it's most surprising."

Louis couldn't help but laugh at this. "I wish then that you and your husband will soon see something similar," he said, knowing that Musichetta had yet to have any children.

Musichetta smiled. "In due time," she said as she let the men into the room.

Inside, they found Eponine sitting up in bed, listening to Monique's very effusive storytelling. "How is my favourite daughter-in-law doing?" Louis greeted Eponine warmly.

"I s'pose nicely enough," Eponine laughed. "I'm well, thank you."

Antoine looked towards where a cradle was set up near the bed. "Is Laure asleep already?"

Eponine shook her head before motioning for him to sit near her. "Antoine, you _should_ get some rest. You've been dealing with work and the boys all day."

The young man smiled as he sat at her bedside and squeezed her hand briefly. "I had a little."

"It's obviously not enough and you know it," Eponine pointed out. "I know that we're both a little busy, but it's now _my_ turn to worry about you."

In the meantime Louis went over to the cradle, where he found himself looking right at a ruddy faced newborn with a full head of blonde hair. Her dark brown eyes screwed up for a moment before widening as if she was trying to study him. Louis chuckled as he bent to get a better look at the child. '_She's so much like how Antoine was years ago,' _he decided quietly. "I'm your grandfather Louis. It's nice to meet you," he said in a whisper.

"Why don't you carry her?" Monique suggested.

"I'm not sure I still know how," Louis muttered a little worriedly. Nevertheless he managed to scoop up the little girl, and was pleasantly surprised to find himself easily cradling his grandchild. He looked towards the women for approval, only to find his wife conferring with Musichetta, while Eponine was discussing something with Antoine. He glanced back down at Laure, who yawned and screwed up her eyes drowsily. "Sleepy already, _petite_?" he whispered.

"She's been awake most of the afternoon," Antoine remarked, going over to them. "You're the only grandfather she'll get to really know," he added.

'_All the more reason not to let her down,' _Louis decided, letting Laure grasp one of his fingers tightly in her little palm.


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: Time for the Jehan/Azelma series. The events of Chapter 67 of WAMP, from Azelma's POV_

**13: That Famed Thenardier Courage**

She was given the gray dress that day, a garment as delicate and inconspicuous as a cobweb. _'It's the second finest thing I've got though,'_ Azelma reminded herself as she finished putting up her braids into a knot. Her finest dress, a purple silk gown, had been for last night's party, and besides today was not a time to draw much attention. '_At least for some,' _she told herself as she cast a look around the room she'd been given in the Lafontaines' manor. It was rather sumptuous owing to its thick satin and damask draperies and the fact that there was a proper vanity table in the room, but it was definitely not as cozy as Jehan's tiny apartment. Azelma squeezed her eyes shut to block away the dear memories of this apartment before taking a deep breath and giving herself one last look in the mirror. Only then she headed downstairs to the front hall of the Lafontaine residence to wait for Angelique and Cerise, who were most likely still fussing over their toilette.

Much to Azelma's relief, Angelique was already at the doorway. "We're going to the Abbaye Aux Bois," Angelique announced. She looked every bit the grand matron in a cerulean gown with a matching cape. "You should be honored that Citizenness Recamier and Citizen Chateaubriand will receive us," she said pointedly to Azelma.

"I've heard of her," Azelma remarked in a thin tone. Of course she knew of two of the leading members of the city's aging elite. It was impossible to totally escape at least the mention of them during the course of the recently concluded campaign for the legislature, even if she had never been so privileged as to step into the Recamier salon or catch Chateaubriand at one of his rare public appearances. '_What will they do when they no longer count for so much?' _she wondered silently as she watched Angelique admonishing Cerise, who'd just made her entrance dressed in a fine lavender gown trimmed with the finest Valeciennes lace.

Cerise smiled beatifically at Azelma. "I'm sure you'll enjoy it there; it's so sophisticated. You'll probably even meet a handsome swain who'll do so much better than a wild poet in sweeping you off your feet."

'_Only when you're through with them,' _Azelma almost said, but she focused more on swallowing the bitterness welling up in her throat, more so when she could hear Justine, the other Lafontaine girl, crying bitterly on the other side of the door. She could not think of a worse way to partake of someone's leftovers, especially if it was only to be crumbs of adoration. '_They won't be anything like Jehan,' _she mused, picturing again the sweet but valiant poet who probably wanted nothing to do with her after her very public betrayal. Not even a royal ransom of rubies could ever mend the rift.

Angelique gave Azelma another warning look. "I won't have you going off just because we are at the Latin Quartier. You know that Citizenness Recamier would not just admit anyone-"

"I wouldn't dream of it," Azelma replied curtly.

"Not even that sister of yours."

At this, Azelma bit the inside of her cheek. Though the Abbaye Aux-Bois was a little way from the usual haunts of her siblings and their friends, it was not inconceivable for them to be in the general area or to be just passing through. "I cannot ignore them," she said.

"Azelma, please. We'll be late or we won't go anyplace if you're going to acknowledge everyone you know there," Cerise taunted. "If you like it so much, you can go back there."

"Well you know why I can't," Azelma said stiffly. After the scene at the Odeon just a few weeks ago, there was no way she could take up residence in the area without exciting comment. '_And I've brought enough trouble upon everyone else,' _she thought, willing herself yet another time to forget all the tearful scenes with Jehan, Eponine, and Enjolras on the night of the play and the day after when she'd left the Latin Quartier. Nevertheless, the gnawing ache in her chest still remained, despite Cerise's attempt to turn the talk towards the people they would meet at the salon.

Her bleak mood did not improve in the slightest when she and the Lafontaines arrived at the abbey. Almost immediately they had spotted old acquaintances and left her to stand by the far well, unnoticed by nearly everyone. '_I used to have a seat near the middle of the room,' _she thought bitterly as she watched the Lafontaines cajoling their hostess, who was clearly in the center of much conversation. Azelma's own 'seat near the middle' had been during script readings and rehearsals, nights when Courfeyrac, Paulette, Grantaire, Bahorel, Therese, Bossuet, and other friends would be too intoxicated with absinthe and laughter to get home on their own feet. As 'unsophisticated' as it might have seemed, Azelma now dearly longed for it, especially if she could actually remember laughing during those occasions. '_I don't think they'd miss me now, not after what I did,' _she thought as she asked a manservant for a glass of wine.

A wheezing sound came from a corner and Azelma turned to see a bellicose banker raising a glass of wine by way of greeting. "What is a goddess like you doing alone? Do you actually mean to portray Silence?" he teased.

Azelma felt as if her tongue had stuck to the roof of her mouth. "I need some air," she said.

"Azelma, don't be unfriendly, come sit here," Angelique called. "Really now, must you be so rude?" she added in an undertone. "And you shouldn't go with that gentleman, he's of the most _classless_ sort."

"Classless?"

"A merchant from out of town."

It was all that Azelma could do not to roll her eyes especially at the way Angelique had shuddered at the words 'from out of town'. "He's the same as me. I'm from Montfermeil," she muttered.

"You haven't been back there in years, so you're Parisian," Angelique argued, shaking Azelma sharply.

Azelma crossed her arms at this line of reasoning but before she could remonstrate, someone had called Angelique's attention and the older woman had sallied off towards this distraction. She saw Cerise giving her a suspicious look before returning to preening before two dandies. '_She'll scream at me if I try to join them,' _she thought, so she instead took a seat on a low stool at the fringes of the conversation, just so she could listen to the animated banter between Chateaubriand and a younger author.

In the middle of this engaging conversation, Cerise's laughter suddenly rang above the din. "That playwright Prouvaire is handsome but he is such a curious and queer one. I don't see why a man so rich has to live in a garret, dress so badly, and go about selling his scrawled verses-" she said. She paused when she saw Azelma looking their way. "Does he make much?"

"Yes; he doesn't have to write anyone for money. He doesn't go about, people come to him," Azelma corrected. She could guess a little what picture Cerise was trying to evoke, if the smug looks on the dandies' faces were any indicator. "He's that good. He doesn't need to starve. He wrote one of the best plays at the Odeon within the past two years."

"Yes, we watched it. Quite the sensation, really," an older critic said approvingly. "It is a little raw in execution; you should tell him that so he can speak with the cast. But on the whole it shows great promise. I want to see him and Dumas work on something together."

"If Dumas would consent to it!" another man laughed. "There will be a rivalry soon for the best poet in the Latin Quartier!"

Azelma couldn't help smiling with pride at this high praise for Jehan, even as she noticed the sly and disapproving looks that the Lafontaines and their cronies were exchanging. "Maybe not just the Latin Quartier, but Paris and beyond," she said slowly.

"Well there will be no accounting for taste," Angelique said curtly. "If you ask me there hasn't been a good poet since Andre Chenier."

"I am surprised that even the youth can take such interest in his work," Chateaubriand told her.

"My husband keeps a fine library and considers Chenier's work as among the greatest acquisitions," Angelique replied.

Azelma almost rolled her eyes at this exaggeration; Auguste Lafontaine hardly went to the house's library, and in fact that room would have fallen in total disrepair were it not for the slight attention that Justine Lafontaine and a few servants sometimes deigned to give it. She swirled the wine in her glass, barely paying any attention to the continued commentaries about poets and their various predilections or to anything that was said after that as the topic shifted to less incendiary matters.

Suddenly a peal of laughter came from where Cerise was now standing with some friends. "Of course he is courting me. We were introduced at a soiree at my family's home. Actually I saw him before since he was a classmate of my brother's, but we were not formally introduced during that time since my mother did not want my brother bringing his so-called 'radical' friends around," she prattled.

Azelma sat up straight at these words. '_Who is she talking about?' _she wondered, even if she already had a sinking feeling in her gut as to who the young man in question might be. She glanced towards Angelique for confirmation, only to see her chatting with some friends from her convent school days.

In the meanwhile Cerise did not hide the smile on her face as murmurs and nods spread throughout the salon. She gingerly adjusted her grip on her wine glass as she waited for her captive audience to fall silent. "It goes without saying that he is too discreet and decorous to make a show of it. It is part of his good breeding, that is for sure. You'll see what he'll do just yet."

"His Jacobinian _vertu _more likely," Chateaubriand muttered.

Cerise shrugged at this elderly gentleman's comment. "I am so sure he'll ask my brother one of these days about the, you know what," she giggled. "Isn't it right, Angelique?"

"Mmhmm," her sister-in-law murmured absent-mindedly, sipping from her own glass of wine.

Azelma's eyes widened at this exchange. There was no doubt that Cerise was referring to Enjolras; there was no other man who occupied Cerise's thoughts almost to the point of driving her to silliness. '_Even if she knows perfectly well that he is already in love with my sister,' _she thought as she tightened her grip on her wineglass. She had heard something to the effect that Enjolras had said a few startling words about this matter directly after the recently concluded trial of the jeweller Duchamp. '_Probably something good though, or I would hear about Ponine being upset,' _she thought as she turned her attention towards Cerise and Angelique.

"It is good that you apparently approve of the match, Citizenness Lafontaine," their hostess Juliette Recamier said demurely to Angelique.

"Were you any younger, Citizenness Recamier, I think he would be a good match for you," one pug-faced wag teased.

"Certainly not. He is too passionate for my temperament!" Juliette Recamier said.

"Naturally, only one with the particular charms of Citizenness _Cerise_ Lafontaine deserves to be the wife of a legislator, especially one so promising," another young man said in a tone that was meant to be envious. "I was under the impression though that he intended to live a celibate life?"

"Obviously not! And you know he never looks at anyone else, which is another great quality of his," Cerise prattled on. "Anyway I give it a year, and I _will _be Citizenness Enjolras. Naturally you are all invited to the wedding-"

This was too much for Azelma, who was now almost sure she could shatter the glass in her grip. Without a doubt this talk would start a rumor, one that would be embarrassing and painful to set to rights. For all that was right and wrong between her and Eponine, Azelma was still not one to stand for something so damaging to her only sister, especially if she could prevent it. Her next breath came as clear words. "_What_ wedding?"

For a moment she felt her breath stop in her throat as she realized that all eyes were slowly turning in her direction. She cleared her throat more demurely as she looked at Cerise. "If there is to be a wedding, your wedding I mean, I don't think he's going to be involved."

"Azelma..." Cerise trailed off.

Angelique gave Azelma yet another reproving look. "Now, now Citizenness Thenardier, I am sure that you must have heard the situation a little differently-"

"I _know_ what I heard, and I know what I see here and elsewhere," Azelma said as she suddenly realized that her voice was louder than before. "I can't believe you would tell such a lie, Citizenness Lafontaine. It's no secret who Citizen Enjolras is very closely associated with-and it is not with you."

"What do you mean? It is that propagandist...the one named Ponina, or something like that..." the pug-faced wag said.

"Eponine Thenardier," Juliette Recamier corrected him. "Of course, how could I forget her? I met her before in this very room. A very clever girl, even somewhat sweet, if I recall." She smiled kindly at Azelma. "She is your older sister, I take that?"

Azelma nodded proudly, remembering that her sister had mentioned meeting this lady too during the campaign. "The only one I have."

Cerise rolled her eyes, if only to keep from shrinking under the increasingly questioning gazes being thrown her way. "Citizenness Recamier, I believe my friend is confused. Citizen Enjolras _does_ know Citizenness Thenardier the elder, but it is not as if they are particular friends or anything of that sort. They only run in the same _Radicaux_ circles," she said with a laugh as she went over to Azelma.

Azelma stepped away, knowing that Cerise was about to pinch her. "Stop this."

Cerise looked at her imperiously. "Why, what is the matter?" she demanded.

"I won't stand near you if you're simply going to tell a heap of lies about my sister," Azelma hissed.

"Why and what is the actual story between Citizen Enjolras and your sister?" another society matron asked, raising an eyebrow.

"He's courting her. You can ask _anyone_ in the Latin Quartier about that," Azelma said. She felt almost ridiculous explaining something that should have been obvious even to a blind man. "They work together, they spend a great deal of time together and he gives her _particular_ attention," she added.

"Hah, as a mistress!" Cerise laughed.

"She's not his mistress. Do you think he would ever do that, since he is as respectable as you like to say he is?" Azelma retorted, drawing herself up to her full height.

"They live in the same house-"

"Well if you think he is doing such a thing, why do you bother with him?"Azelma challenged.

Cerise paled at this question. "She isn't respectable," she spat.

"I have heard talk that Citizenness Thenardier, the elder in particular, is associated with that new political society of women," the pug faced wag said sceptically.

"Why that would make her a perfect match for Citizen Enjolras, him being a radical legislator!" Chateaubriand said, sharing a knowing look with Juliette Recamier.

"My dear Citizenness Lafontaine, are you quite sure you were referring to the same man?" a matron asked. "Because I _have_ seen Citizen Enjolras and Citizenness Thenardier together in public, and while they are decorous, there is obviously a strong affection there."

"And he has said that they have a mutual attachment. His words, not mine," another young man noted. He smiled admiringly at Azelma. "I believe you are in the right of it, Citizenness."

"Thank you Citizen," Azelma said over the hubbub of ensuing conversation. Suddenly the room felt stifling and she was all too aware of the venomous look that Angelique was giving her. She then set down her wineglass and made an awkward sort of half curtsy to their hostess. "I am sorry, but I must leave. Maybe I'll be here at some better time," she said, trying not to gasp.

"Are you well, Citizenness?" Juliette Recamier asked.

"I think I am now," Azelma said. "Goodbye," she added over her shoulder before walking quickly out of the room. She was not even a few paces away from the door when she already heard footsteps behind her but she willed herself not to look back as she ran towards the abbey door, nearly tripping over the hem of her gown in the process. She threw the door open and ran out into the yard, but before she could get to the gate, someone ran up in front of her.

"Just where do you think you're going?" Cerise shouted, trying to grab her. "How dare you walk out, after saying such horrible things!"

"You were the one who started it," Azelma spat. "Now let me go!" she added, half pushing Cerise away and running to the abbey gate. She slammed it shut before Cerise could reach her. "I'm not going with you and Angelique any more, ever!"

"So you think you can simply leave? After everything that Angelique and I have done for you, this is the sort of gratitude we get?" Cerise screeched as she grabbed the steel gate.

"I can't thank you for making me feel terrible even when you say you're trying to make me look nice. I am tired of following _you_ around, and Angelique telling me all the time what to do especially when she's being horrible to other people. You've been horrible to me ever since that meeting at the Place Vendome," Azelma snapped.

"Because you did what you weren't supposed to do! Just because _she_ is your sister, that doesn't mean you had to choose her in that silly election," Cerise seethed.

"You didn't have to be there either. I know you didn't even want to go," Azelma said. They had almost been late since Cerise did not want to get out of bed. However that incident was now the least of her problems, and Azelma was determined to drive the point across. "I also don't like what you say about so many other people, like Jehan, or my sister, or my brother."

"Brother? Your brothers are still children, why would I bother with any of them?"

"Not them. My _older_ brother, at least he will be someday."

Cerise's jaw dropped. "How could you say such a thing?"

"It's much better than what you have been trying to make everyone believe about him and you," Azelma shot back. "I'm telling Jehan too what you said about him back there-"

"He'll have nothing to do with you," Cerise hissed. "After what you did, with that money and the necklace? It's still a mess, even with that horrible man Citizen Duchamp in prison. He'll never want a horrible liar, someone from the lowest gutter-"

Azelma saw red and she kicked the gate, making Cerise jump back. Cerise stared for a long moment before running back to the abbey, howling that Azelma had gone mad. "And maybe I have," Azelma muttered under her breath, suddenly feeling shaky as she walked away from the convent and broke into a run. She desperately hoped that if she was going to burst out in tears, it would not be in public.

She had not gone far when she heard a steady set of footsteps on the street. She turned to snap at this person but she realized quickly that following her was none other than Enjolras. It was clear from the wry and questioning look on his face that he was somehow aware of the recent row. Azelma had to choke back a relieved sob as she went to meet him; it had been so long since anyone had looked at her without the slightest bit of disgust. "She's awful. Am I glad to be gone, and am I glad to see you!" she managed to say.

"You should speak to Eponine as soon as you can," Enjolras simply said.

This reply brought Azelma up short. '_From one trouble to another,' _she thought but she knew better than to protest. Of course Enjolras, or for that matter any of their friends, would make this suggestion. "Is she at the Rue des Macons now?"

"Most likely. What do you plan to do?" he said calmly.

"After I tell Ponine about this, I will send for my things," Azelma blurted out. '_It's only fair at least; they can't keep my dresses,' _she thought. Nevertheless this question was sobering; now it seemed as if she was standing at the edge of a void and her purported brother had little more than a thin lifeline to guide her through it.

He only nodded to this. Very well then, and do you already know where will you stay?"

"I could go to the Pontmercys; I know Cosette won't turn me away," Azelma blurted out. She nearly cringed at the surprised look that Enjolras gave her and she decided that if she was going to walk with him, she would have to come up with a better answer. "Never mind that I said that. Ponine will help me think of something better than the streets. How is Jehan?"

"He is still doing well."

These words could only hearten Azelma somewhat; Eponine had said the same thing not too long ago, but there would be no way for her to ascertain this till Azelma saw him with her own eyes. . "I should...I should thank him." She paused to see if Enjolras would be angry, but seeing that his expression did not change, she explained herself further. "Ponine was right about him, I should have spoken to him earlier. Do you think he will be at home some time later?"

"Perhaps. You should also see if he is at the Odeon," Enjolras replied as they reached the corner of the Rue de Chaise. He gestured to an omnibus. "After you, Azelma."

It was all she could do not to sigh with relief as she boarded the vehicle, knowing that her own shoes wouldn't stand the walk. For the rest of the trip she could not bring herself to say anything to him, not when she was so sure that he overheard a great deal of the fight, perhaps even the more incriminating conclusion of it. Yet the words spilled from her lips as they arrived at the area of the Rue des Macons. "Are you angry that I said you were my older brother?" she asked slowly, wondering what he would say to this.

He gave her a pensive look. "More of surprised."

Azelma swallowed hard before she wiped her face with the back of her hand and frowned at the rouge that came off. She would have laughed at this sight, but for now there was something more important to explain to him, now that he seemed to have taken her confidence in stride. "Cerise was bragging to all those people we were visiting that she'll become 'Citizenness Enjolras' by this time next year."

He snorted. "That is foolishness."

"I told her so, and that was the beginning of the row," she said. It was all she could tell him without sounding like the gossips she had just left behind. She felt a frisson of nervousness as she followed Enjolras to the house, more so when she caught sight of Eponine working at her desk. '_She might not be happy to see me,' _she realized but she steeled herself to enter the building.

Eponine lost no time in meeting them in the hall. "What happened? I know you two are here for a reason," she asked curiously.

Azelma had to will herself to collect the words, but the fact that Eponine did not seem too angry was a good sign. "I'm no longer staying with the Lafontaines," she said.

Eponine's jaw dropped. "You have to tell me all about it in a little bit; we'll talk in that room I was just working in. I just need to talk with Enjolras first."

Azelma knew better than to eavesdrop on Eponine and Enjolras, so she quickly went into the front office, taking care not to tread on the books and papers that her sister left lying about. '_Will I have to get a situation like this?' _she wondered as she looked about the front office. Unlike Eponine, she was not particularly gifted with working with books and text; her own skills with words were more intuitive and suited for drama. She knew she was no hand with a needle, nor did she have the patience to work at a stove. '_What sort of thing can I do then?" _she wondered as her sister returned to the office.

Eponine motioned for Azelma to take the better chair in the room. "It's a long story, isn't it, Zelma?" she asked, sounding someplace between worried and bemused.

"It's the simplest thing, Ponine.I had a fight with them, and I refuse to go back with them," Azelma said. Hopefully this explanation would suffice. "I'm not going to stay with someone horrid."

"I s'pose it's funny since you called me exactly that not so long ago," Eponine pointed out.

Azelma frowned, remembering the night of their quarrel and how she'd gone so far as to scratch her sister' face. "They're a different sort of horrid. You're only horrible when you're angry or not thinking, they're horrid because they like to be that way."

Eponine snorted. "Well it must have been more than them behaving badly, Zelma."

Azelma sighed. "They were lying and saying horrible things about so many people, even you and Jehan." She saw a curious look cross over sister's face at these words. "Cerise Lafontaine said she's going to marry Enjolras."

"She's only being silly," Eponine said, rolling her eyes. She took a deep breath as she looked at Azelma, almost as if she was unsure what to say. "So where will you go?"

"I don't know. I know you hardly have any room," Azelma said.

"Well if need be, we can talk to Combeferre or someone..." Eponine trailed off. She took a deep breath as she glanced towards the door. "You should know that Prouvaire is here."

Azelma felt as if her heart had suddenly stopped. "What for?"

"He and Stendhal are working on something," Eponine explained. "I know you've been wanting to go to him. Nothing is stopping you."

"What if he doesn't want to see me?" Azelma asked. Now that she felt she could breathe, the words threatened to come in a torrent. "I never said sorry before I left; I just walked out since I didn't want to embarrass him after that whole mess with the necklace. But I miss him. I really miss him and I want to be sure that he's fine-" She had to stop before she burst out crying. "I know I shouldn't have done it, not to the best person I've ever, ever known."

"You can see him now, this very hour," Eponine said. She pulled a speck of dirt away from her glove. "He loves you, Azelma."

"You mean loved," Azelma whispered, not trusting herself to speak. "Shouldn't he hate me?"

"He doesn't hate you at all," Eponine insisted. "Please, can you trust me on this?"

"You'd better be right," Azelma said even as she nodded. "If he yells at me, I'm not going to see any of you again, Ponine."

Eponine sighed as she got to her feet. "Do you want me to take a look first?"

"Please?" Azelma could feel her heart hammering in her throat as she watched her sister go to the office door and peer out before signing for her to follow. She willed her feet to move towards the hallway, and she had to clap her hand over her mouth when she finally caught sight of Jehan talking to the Stendhals. He was a little more drawn and tired than she remembered, almost as if he had been carrying a great weight on him. Yet after a moment he looked her way and an astonished smile crossed his face as he mouthed her name.

She looked at her sister, just to make sure she wasn't dreaming, even as she felt her feet being dragged forward, towards where Jehan still stood. "Aren't you happy to see me, Jehan?"

Jehan shook his head and for a moment Azelma felt as if she had the wind knocked out of her; there was little point in staying if he was not happy to see her. Before she could turn away, she heard his footsteps and looked up to see him right in front of her. He bent almost as if to caress her, but all she felt were his lips hovering close to her ear. "I can't be only happy, Azelma. I should have gone after you. I'm sorry for letting you walk away," he whispered.

It was finally enough for Azelma, and now she was sure she could not do anything about the hot feeling pricking at her eyes. She flung her arms around him, knowing now she could not stand for another moment to be apart from him. She could feel her own sobs shaking her, but that was swiftly overtaken by the familiar feel of his arms pressing her close to him. "I shouldn't have gone or done those things, Jehan. Can you forgive me for it?" she murmured.

Jehan buried his face in her neck before discreetly kissing her cheek and pulling her closer as if she was the only thing that could keep him from falling. "You didn't have to ask. I just always need the chance to tell you so."

Azelma nodded and breathed easily again, now that she was certain she would never let go.


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: I think my Thenardier figment held my brain hostage for this outtake, till I could properly write it. _

**14: The Good Old Man **

Despite being an elderly gentleman supposedly living on some mysterious and meagre income, Nicolas Thenardier still allowed himself the nicety of personally engraved visiting cards. '_It's only because of these old swells who want to have a piece of paper as proof before seeing someone,' _he thought one evening as he proudly looked over one hundred cards newly engraved with the words '_Baron Nicolas Thenard: 13 Rue d'Aligre'_. The cards were emblazoned with a gilt border intended to evoke a pair of Delphic columns. While it would have been easier to dispense with this increasingly old fashioned custom of visiting cards if he frequented the more radical and youthful salons of the Latin Quartier, Les Halles, or parts of the Marais and Montmartre, a number of recent events had made such a move rather risky for him. '_Not as if these Jacobin brats have anything useful to give,' _he groused silently as he slipped the cards into his coat pocket and headed out of his lodgings in search of a cabriolet.

It was a muggy night, even for August, but Thenardier willed himself to endure his heavy dark blue tailcoat, which he wore over a tight brown waistcoat. A stiffly starched cravat was a necessary addition for his pleated shirt. Thankfully trousers were becoming more and more permissible in these evening parties, thus saving him the trouble of acquiring a comfortable pair of breeches. He completed this entire ensemble with a tall, narrow brimmed hat that he set at an angle in order not to flatten out his carefully combed forward hair. It was on the whole much better fitting than any of the outfits he had once rented from the Changer, but he could not help but feel as if this new attire chafed somewhat. '_Where has that old dab gotten to?' _he wondered idly for a moment, remembering some idle talk that the Changer had been spooked by some inspectors and forced to quickly remove to a quiet town. It was a plausible enough explanation, save perhaps for the fact that this coincided with two more apparent disappearances; Lucien Babet and Pierre Montparnasse were rumoured to have also left the city. '_Most likely by way of the Seine,' _Thenardier thought, knowing that it wouldn't be the first time someone had conveniently sunk into the river's stinking depths.

All thought of his former acquaintances fled his mind as soon as he came into sight of a brightly lit house on the Rue Olivier, within sight of the church of Notre Dame de Lorette. He gave his name to the porter and deposited some of his cards in a silver dish by the door. The porter nodded approvingly at this gesture. "A fine and classy move, Citizen," he said.

"The only move," Thenardier replied in a tone affecting some authority. He could not resist peering in the dish to see if any other dignitaries had followed this custom. He would have scoffed at the seeming lack of counts and marquises, but for two startling cards, one engraved with the name _Jean Prouvaire_ and the other engraved with _Azelma Thenardier_.

The porter raised an eyebrow at Thenardier. "Does the Baron know them?"

"They are friends of my kinsman; no close relation, sadly," Thenardier said jovially. '_Of all my brats she is the most ruinous,' _he thought, remembering all too well how he'd seen Azelma's name in the papers, embroiled in a scandal that was now referred to as 'The Affair of Madame Guillotine's Collar'. '_Had she still been living with me then, I would have thrown her out for her impertinence,' _he thought. As for Jean Prouvaire, Thenardier never had occasion to meet him, but he had certainly heard of this young poet in connection with Azelma, his plays at the Odeon, his numerous powerful friends, and his eccentric though revolutionary ways. He was a man with too many qualities for Thenardier's mind to properly reconcile, and for that alone the former innkeeper already disliked him.

When he entered the glorious hall on the second floor, the place was full of people milling about to meet old friends and add to their acquaintances. Some groups were making intense conversation in corners and alcoves, heedless of the efforts of the livelier partygoers to organize a quadrille. He instantly took the opportunity to insert himself in a lively conversation with a trader visiting from Lille as well as a garrulous matron. "I never expected that one such as you would take an interest in the lace trade," the trader said bemusedly when Thenardier handed him a card in the middle of their conversation.

"I may be a patron of the arts but I also deem commerce necessary," Thenardier said obsequiously. "Besides it is good, honest work, and keeps many a young woman off the streets."

"And men from idleness," the matron chimed in.

"It must be a sight," Thenardier said, trying not to imagine a rough man like himself engaged in such a delicate trade. "It must be an honor to be among the chief suppliers of the shops here in Paris."

"When they aren't being troublesome," the trader sighed.

"Oh don't be provincial! You aren't used to fine folk," the matron chided him. She smiled at Thenardier. "I'm sure the Baron sees much of them."

"Not as often as I ought to; this is such a troublesome age for merriment, no one knows how to go about it anymore," Thenardier said, already wondering how he could exit this conversation. Granted, his companion was buxom and gay, but her lack of teeth and abundance of face powder appalled him, and in fact reminded him all too well of a face he would have paid dearly to banish from his memory. '_At least she is more wholesome looking than Lisette was,' _he thought spitefully. The last sight he had of his much besmirched bride was at the Gorbeau tenement, and he'd heard that she'd turned into a hag before her demise at Saint-Lazare. Thankfully that was a sight he'd been spared from.

The matron merely laughed at his apparent discomfiture and slapped his arm. "How could you sound so tired out of this city when there is so much life to it? Why I saw the most charming wedding cortege a few days ago, headed most to the church of Saint-Sulpice. Everyone was thrilled to see the festivities, no matter if the carriages were so plain and it seemed to be a small party. One of those roguish gamins actually even gave a bouquet of roses to the bride!"

"She must have been beautiful," the trader said.

"Very much so. The groom also was positively dashing," the lady gushed.

"Well it sounds like a sham wedding," Thenardier scoffed under his breath. He would have liked to hear of a procession with lavishly decorated carriages, with servants in livery and ribbons lining both sides of the road according to old custom. '_Though the last time I followed such a procession it only led me to nothing,' _he groused, remembering how he'd failed to extract any sort of usable profit from finding the secret of Jean Valjean's link to the Pontmercys. Nevertheless curiosity got the better of him. "The lovely couple were at least bourgeoisie?" he asked.

"The young man, Enjolras, at least. The girl, Eponine, is of more obscure origins but she's had some education," the matron said. "It was a positively political wedding; they were both in red, being the radicals that they are."

Thenardier's jaw dropped at the mention of his daughter and his son-in-law. "A bride in red cannot bode well," he muttered with disgust. How dare they proceed with the marriage without allowing him to partake in the festivities? Then again after his most recent confrontation with the pair, he knew better than to expect any civil interaction with them. However at that moment he couldn't help but envision how his eldest child might have looked, the beautiful daughter who had inherited Lisette Sorel's red hair and height, but thankfully less of that woman's oafishness and broadness. '_Lisette wore sky blue,' _Thenardier mused, recalling how that woman had laughed when he'd tried to sweep her into his arms.

"Citizen? Are you acquainted with them?" the woman asked.

Thenardier shook his head before mumbling an excuse about having some wine. He soon spotted a man who appeared to be the baron de Barante, conversing with a younger, very slight looking gentleman dressed in a rather garish blue suit. Before Thenardier could sally forth to make acquaintances of these fellows, a light voice called out, "Father!" and he found himself accosted by a well-dressed young woman in a lavender gown.

"Bah, I do not know you girl," Thenardier muttered, stepping back lest anyone notice this encounter and arrive at untoward conjectures. "You have me mistaken for someone else."

"I'm sure I am not," the girl replied. "Don't you recognize me? It hasn't been a year, Father, since I last saw you! It's me, Azelma!"

Thenardier shook his head in disbelief. How could this beautiful girl be that impertinent slut he'd stranded in the streets last autumn? Yet on closer inspection he saw the same broad brow, narrow chin, raven hair, and slight but curvaceous build that characterized his wide-eyed second child. '_This isn't the first time you've seen such a transformation,' _he reminded himself, remembering now how he'd also seen the pitiful Lark of Montfermeil suddenly turned into a proper bourgeoisie girl.

Azelma laughed, perhaps recognizing his perplexed expression. "I didn't know you would be attending. How is it that you were invited?"

"That is none of your business," Thenardier growled. As far as he was concerned this daughter did not need to know of his dealings and wheedling at the Rue d'Aligre that had allowed him to be present at this occasion. Had Azelma been as clever as her sister, Thenardier might have asked for some assistance at that moment, but as it was all he deigned to give her was some form of small talk. "So some high society friend admitted you?"

"A friend of Jehan's," Azelma said, shooting a fond glance at the young gentleman talking to the baron de Barante. She smiled sweetly at Thenardier and tucked her hands behind her back. "Since you're here, may I ask for your permission to do something important?"

It only took an instant for Thenardier to guess what this might be. "So you plan on marrying that bohemian?" Thenardier mocked. He almost burst out laughing at the blush that spread across Azelma's face. "What makes you think he would ask you?"

"He already did, and I said 'yes'," Azelma said, holding her head high despite this jibe.

"Aren't you too young to marry?"

"I'm eighteen next year, Father. We'll only wed then."

Thenardier frowned as he silently worked through the numbers. Azelma was only a little younger than Eponine, and it had only been a few months since Eponine had asked for permission for _her_ own wedding. _'I shouldn't have given my consent if I'd known how useless my son-in-law would be,' _he thought even as he saw Azelma wave to Jean Prouvaire. He adopted a straight posture as the poet joined them. "Good evening to you, Citizen Prouvaire," he greeted graciously. "I'm a great connoisseur of the arts, and I've heard much praise for you."

Prouvaire looked confusedly at Thenardier. "Citizen, I do not believe we've been introduced."

Azelma sighed deeply. "Jehan, meet my father. Father, may I introduce Jean Prouvaire."

Prouvaire nodded courteously. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Citizen Thenardier."

Thenardier looked this young man over from head to toe. It was clear that Prouvaire was a man of means, just as talk on the street said. He was pale and timid, quite in the Romantic fashion. Most importantly, he was obviously besotted with Azelma, if the way he looked at her was any indicator. "So I hear you intend to marry my daughter?" Thenardier said to the poet.

"Yes. In fact I'm here to ask for your permission," Prouvaire said. "The wedding won't be right away; we'll schedule it for next year, after her birthday."

"You wound me with such a proposition, young man," Thenardier replied. "Have you no idea how dear a youngest daughter is to her father? I should thank you of course for caring for her all these months, for seeing her through the winter. Surely your generosity can be extended?"

"I'm not a stingy man, Citizen, but it was not generosity that prompted my actions," Prouvaire admitted. "I love Azelma, and for that reason alone I did what I had to do."

The very mention of love had Thenardier laughing. Was he talking to some milksop soft in the head from romances? '_Trust Azelma to inherit her mother's sensibilities even when picking a foolish boy,' _he thought, nearly shuddering with horror at the memory of one of his late wife's vices. "Come now, don't lie to your father," he entreated Azelma. "I am sure there is more to the reason you and this fine young man are staying together. He is a writer, but a wealthy one, I gather?"

Much to Thenardier's surprise the young pair seemed slightly discomfited by this renewed mention of finances. "Jehan's writing alone brings in enough for us," Azelma finally said.

"What, and that is all the income you will ever have?" Thenardier asked exasperatedly. "What of other sources, an inheritance most certainly—"

"We do not need that," Prouvaire insisted. "We've done well with almost nothing from my parents; I have a stipend that is more than enough for me and her."

Thenardier gaped at Prouvaire, wondering if he had heard the poet correctly. What sort of fashionable young man, bohemian or not, could live in such a manner? "If that is the case, well I cannot allow this match. I have already lost one daughter to you useless revolutionaries, and I will not lose another," he said vehemently.

Azelma's eyes flashed with a devious light, one that Thenardier might have recognized if he had ever looked at his own reflection during a terse negotiation. However in that instant she seemed older, in fact a little taller and almost imperious. "I do not think I would be of any use to you either when unmarried," she said slowly. "I cannot burden my siblings, and I know that it is impossible for me to take up residence with you. So it is either I will have to live in an appalling civil state or find some way to earn my living, whichever way you see as less scandalous to being a Thenardier."

Thenardier snarled and raised his fist to strike Azelma for such a bald-faced threat till he felt a hand close hard about his arm, shoving him back. He looked to see Prouvaire now standing between him and Azelma, all timidity gone from his face. "I will never allow you to hurt her, not even if you are her father," Prouvaire said furiously.

The former innkeeper stared at this indomitable young man and the equally resolute girl behind him, before becoming aware that there was a crowd of people now beginning to surround them and whisper among themselves. He could see the disapproving looks being thrown his way and he realized that his fist was still clenched. "Of course I would never mean to hurt you; it was only an outburst of temper," he said, affecting a more gentle tone.

"What will you mean to do with me then?" Azelma asked more loudly as she stepped out from behind Prouvaire. "Will you give us your consent or not?"

Thenardier gritted his teeth even as the other people in the salon began to murmur more loudly, some even clamouring for him to answer in the affirmative. There was no other way he could get out of this situation without saving some dignity. "You have it," he said at last. He moved as if to embrace his daughter but he hissed in her ear, "I will not forgive you for this."

"I don't want to ask you to," Azelma said, stepping away. She made a slight curtsy to him. "Thank you Father. I hope to see you at the wedding."

It was all that Thenardier could do not to spit at his child's feet. "Perhaps," he muttered before quickly stalking out, all the while keenly aware of every comment on his thorough defeat.


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: The idea for this hit me in the school bathroom and I had to cry a little bit. A break from the Jehan/Azelma arc for a while. _

**15: The Other Road**

Her brothers are the first to know that she has said 'yes' to Theodule's proposal. Gavroche rolls his eyes and mutters something about wanting to 'maquiller' the booby, while Neville simply walks out and curls up with yet another book. He doesn't look at her for the next two days.

Jacques bursts into tears and asks, "Ponine, why can't we be a family?"

"Of course we'll be a family, what are you talking about?" she replies. It is only a moment after that she realizes that her brother isn't considering Theodule at all in this question.

It isn't much better when she finally tells Azelma and the rest of their friends, when they are meeting the day before the elections. Naturally they congratulate her, but she notices that slight hesitation with Azelma, Combeferre, Musichetta, and Claudine. Before she can ask them about it, she finds Enjolras in front of her.

"I'll finally be happy, I won't be alone," she tells him. "Don't you think it is a good thing?"

"If that is what you choose. My best wishes for you both," he replies. He smiles, but there is somehow a difference now, as if something was lost even before they could put words to it. It is even more evident days later at the _Radicaux_ victory celebration, when everyone is toasting the newly elected representatives. He publicly thanks her for her part in the campaign, and there is nothing but cordiality in his look.

They start avoiding each other again on the stairs soon after, and while they still leave out coffee for each other every day, it's now more often than not burnt.

The wedding is set for that very spring, in the middle of May. It is an uproarious celebration at the Rue des Filles du Calvaire, thanks to the insistence of Theodule's aunt. Her friends stay for a while, her siblings leave on the pretext of the distance, and it is such that when evening falls it's only Theodule's regiment at the reception, finishing the food and drink, toasting the happily married pair, and making increasingly ribald jokes.

His mustache tickles her each time they kiss, and his voice starts ringing a little too loudly when he has a bit much to drink. He is sure and firm in his passion, almost smothering really, and she has no choice but to give in completely to him. It is all well and good for her, till she realizes he's snoring beside her without so much as a goodnight kiss.

It's fine, she tells herself. They'll learn.

Before summer comes, the regiment is posted to Calais. And that's when Eponine realizes that little Jacques was right all along, they cannot be a family. Her place is with her husband, of course. It is foolish to have three boys trailing after them, and one of them with a wooden leg at that. She has no choice but to give them up again. "I'll see you soon and I'll write, I promise," she tells them on the morning they leave. She can't help but look back one time too many, hoping to embed in her mind forever the sight of her brothers on the steps of the dear old tenement.

It always takes far too long for the correspondence to reach Calais; in fact sometimes it's weeks before letters come through. Musichetta is the one who writes the most often; even as Citizenness Joly she still finds time to see to everyone, and constantly assures Eponine that her brothers are being well cared for by Enjolras, Combeferre, and Claudine.

It is Christmas when Eponine receives a perfunctory greeting from her brothers and Azelma. This comes with one of Musichetta's lengthy letters, and in this one she lets slip that Azelma and Prouvaire are on the outs, and that the boys call Claudine their 'maman' now. That night Eponine cries herself to sleep, heedless of Theodule's jokes and caresses.

Enjolras never writes. Eponine understands.

Winter dissolves into spring, and spring into summer, and summer once again into autumn. It is a busy year and Theodule is often away with the regiment, training new recruits. Eponine is left keeping house at their cozy little cottage. When he does come back, he always smells of the soil, sweat, and beer, and never wine and cheap cologne. She knows she ought to be breathing a sigh of relief; other married women have worse to contend with, but sometimes she can't help but wish that there really was another love, some face she could pin her troubles on.

He leaves her with a big, hearty kiss and a basket of her favourite cheeses on their first wedding anniversary, which he must necessarily spend away from home. She cries bitterly as soon as he is out of earshot and places a hand on her midsection, imagining that it is his palm atop of hers as she tells him that there will soon be another to bear the Gillenormand name.

The seaside air at Calais is good for her, and her impending motherhood only adds to the bloom in her cheeks. There is no reason to appear pallid before such bliss. It helps that Theodule is all solicitude whenever he is home, which is increasingly rare now that he is promoted to being a captain. Eponine sometimes goes for meals with the other disgruntled wives of the officers. It is awkward for her since she is the youngest of them all and a Parisian, never mind that her background is unknown in this city. Theodule tells her though that this will be good for her, so she keeps her chin up and goes to these chitchats. The first time she joins the ladies, her head aches with the gossip and griping they have about their husbands. After this she swears to herself never to be in their company for more than once a week, and tells Theodule so.

"Why, you will be lonely!" he chides her.

"_I have been for some time,' _she wants to say but she merely bites her lip.

Their son is born one stormy November day. She fancies the name 'Julien' for their boy, but Theodule insists on naming the child 'Alfred'. "It's the name I always wish I had," he informs her, and for some reason she can't help laughing. He doesn't join in.

Alfred Gillenormand is basically his father in miniature, in both looks and temperament. He is a beautiful blue-eyed cherub with a perpetually muddy face, ever ready to cause mischief in the house or run about with the other children of the neighbourhood. When Alfred is just over a year old, Eponine gives birth to Thierry, a child who is named as close as possible to Theodule. Unsurprisingly this second child of hers is just as much an imp as the first, and this time Theodule wonders if it's Eponine's temperament that has to do with it. Eponine worries that the boys will come to harm with their capers, but Theodule sternly tells her to leave them be. He chides them, Thierry especially, every time they tug on their mother's apron strings or ask for her help.

They become his sons, and she is only the woman who birthed them.

With Alfred and Thierry around, at least physically, Eponine no longer has time to think of her siblings. The letters grow shorter and shorter, till they stop altogether. The time comes when even Musichetta cannot muster anything more than a couple of lines.

The city of Paris may be miles away, but still Eponine hears the rumbling and the thunder. Now and then she looks through copies of the _Moniteur_ and finds a familiar name or two in the bylines or as a subject of the articles. Sometimes she feels an itch in her hands, as if she ought to grasp a pen again, but she bites her lip against such a ridiculous notion. Anyway, how could she even get an article out of Calais without her husband noticing?

More seasons pass, and suddenly a letter comes for Theodule, in his cousin's hand. Apparently their aunt is gravely ill and familial duty requires they return to Paris. For the first time ever, Eponine sees her husband struggle not to cry.

"She was the closest kin you had. I s'pose I'd cry a little if I were you," she tells him.

He frowns at her. "She wouldn't want that," he says as he balls up the letter and throws it in the fireplace. Nevertheless he tells his commanding officer that he has to take a furlough, and tells Eponine to get the family's things ready. They are returning to Paris.

That night Eponine hears childish laughter in her dreams. She looks about and finds herself confronted with a little girl with golden hair and brown eyes. Before she can ask this child's name, she runs off into the mist. When Eponine wakes, her pillow is drenched.

She never tells Theodule about this dream but she sees it before her waking eyes all the way to Paris. The year is 1840 now, enough time for the city to change. Eponine knows to expect this, but even she is startled with how the slums of Saint-Michel have been reorganized, how the streets have been renamed, and even with how the schools are run and how the people have talked of politics. It is almost dizzying and maddening. '_I should have been here,' _the envious thought occurs to her, but she bites it back for the sake of adopting mourning.

She has to let Theodule grieve and sob in his own way before his aunt's coffin; they arrive too late to say their goodbyes. She hears the whispers around her, chiding her for being so stony faced in the midst of such suffering, but she cannot bring herself to weep for an almost-stranger. Almost without thinking of it, she accepts Cosette Pontmercy's invitation to join her for luncheon the next day.

It almost too easy to pretend everything is bright and easy when in Cosette's company, since that is the effect she has on people. However Cosette doesn't mince any words or spare any detail when telling Eponine of everything that has transpired in her absence. All their friends are doing great things now; even Bossuet's ill fortune has turned and he's taken over the glassworks business while Jean Valjean focuses solely on philanthropy. They have all advanced in their respective professions: Joly is now the head doctor at the Bourbe, Feuilly is the chief official in charge of gradually granting the colonies independence, Grantaire is a newspaper editor, Bahorel is a full inspector now at the Prefecture, Courfeyrac is one of the most sought after lawyers in Paris, Prouvaire has published another book and has a perpetual annuity now for his works, Combeferre is now a dean at the Sorbonne, and Enjolras is running an office in the ministry of the Interior, having taken on the assignment after successfully finishing his term in the legislature.

"And my siblings?" Eponine is almost afraid to ask but she has to.

Cosette sighs. "Don't you know? I thought you would."

"No, they've stopped writing."

"Well you should know: Azelma is living in Marseilles now; she and Prouvaire never mended that rift of theirs. I tried to get her to stay but she would have none of it. Gavroche is training to be a detective under Bahorel. Jacques is about to enter the higher school now, and he's talking of being a writer or a lawyer. Neville is in England now, on a trip with Combeferre and Claudine to present a discovery to the Royal Society. They should be back in time for Enjolras' wedding-"

Eponine starts. "To who?"

Cosette rolls her eyes. "A lady named Cerise Lafontaine. She is clever enough, from a family his parents know." It is clear in her tone that she hasn't quite warmed to this woman, which would be a first given Cosette's usually loving nature. Yet Eponine can almost hear the accusation in her friend's tone. '_She's not you. It should have been you.' _

Eponine can only shrug. "Well if his parents know the family, that's good, I s'pose."

"It was long in coming," Cosette says before quickly changing the topic, much to Eponine's relief. Still the discomfiture remains even towards the end of the luncheon, when Cosette wishes her well and Eponine promises to write and end the silence.

Heaven knows if she'll be able to keep the promise. The regiment is moving from Calais to Metz this time, and she will have no time to write.

On the way out of the Pontmercy home, she sees Marius talking to a couple, apparently friends of his. Eponine starts and ducks her head, recognizing all too well the familiar sight of golden hair, a perfectly chiselled face, and hands that had once steadied her own. She risks a glance at the woman named Cerise; she is a perfect brunette statue, with mocking eyes and a pout that speaks of the smug, satisfied woman. Yet in that moment it is a pair of cold blue eyes that catches her gaze, blue eyes that are widening with surprise and something close to pain before hardening once again into the sternness that everyone knows.

She hears Cerise ask about her but she doesn't hear what Enjolras has to say. All she knows she has to get away before the years catch up to her. They do anyway and next thing she knows she is stuffing her fist in her mouth to bite back her weeping, never mind if she is right there in the street where everyone can see.

"Eponine?"

Her eyes fly open and she sees the whiteness of the blankets she's tangled up in. As soon as she extricates herself, she ends up blinking in the half-light of her bedroom just before dawn. She catches a ragged breath even as she feels a callused hand rubbing the back of her neck. "It's only a dream," she whispers, leaning into this comforting and familiar touch. "It's not exactly a nightmare though."

Enjolras raises an eyebrow as he puts an arm on her waist to coax her to snuggle closer. "What do you mean?"

"Only another sort of story, I s'pose," she says, running a hand through his messy golden curls, the sharp line of his cheekbones and the barely there stubble on his chin. She sighs with sheer relief that he is with her and real, as real as her brothers sleeping in the room down the hall and the bustling city around them. The day will not wait for two people such as them and the hours will be long, but it is a challenge that Eponine is dearly looking forward to meeting.

He kisses her hand first and then moves his lips to the bridge of her nose. The bemusement, wonder, and affection in his blue eyes is something she is sure she will never tire of. "What about?"

"A choice I'm glad I said 'no' to," she whispers as she pulls him close, eager to show him how glad she is that he is part of her reality.


	16. Chapter 16

_A/N: Finally decided to do something from Marius' POV._

**16: That Which Is Not Easily Perceived**

There were some times when Marius Pontmercy had the unnerving feeling that far too many things slipped past his notice, especially with regard to his close friends. "How do you possibly remember everything about everyone, Cosette?" he asked his wife one day as they were preparing for yet another lively dinner at their home.

"I only learned it by and by because of having to remember so many things about the girls I went to school with. Anyway if one doesn't let on about not remembering things in company, no one takes offense," Cosette explained as she tied back her hair with a white ribbon. "I'm sure you remember a lot too, about your cases especially," she added more kindly as she searched a drawer for a pair of amber cufflinks for Marius' shirt.

Marius smiled at this sensible bit of advice. How was it that Cosette seemed to always have the best answer to everything? "I sometimes feel like things move so fast with our friends and I cannot keep up," he confessed. "Like I am on the outside looking in," he added more softly. For reasons he could not fathom, it seemed as if Cosette sometimes got along better with his own friends than he did. Somehow she drew people to her, which meant that she was never short of company despite being home much of the time. In contrast, Marius was often away from home because of his cases, but he rarely ran into his friends outside of the Palais de Justice.

"You can't be present for everything they do, but that doesn't mean they love you any less," Cosette reminded him. She grasped both of his hands gently. "They wouldn't be coming tonight if they didn't care, Marius. They are always asking for you."

'_They always did, even in the years when I wasn't asking so much about them,' _he reminded himself. Of course part of it had been because he had been a prospective addition to the Amis del'ABC, but there were many occasions when his friends, especially Courfeyrac, had genuinely desired his company for what it was, and had been all too ready to help him in any ventures. He cringed, realizing now that these were years that could not be taken back or easily made up for.

Cosette drew him to sit next to her on their bed, letting one of his hands rest on the very large swell of her belly. "Is there something about them you want to know about, angel?" she asked him tenderly. "Just so you know the news."

"Prouvaire and Azelma are definitely living together again, am I right?"

"Yes, since before Joly and Musichetta's wedding."

"Claudine and Combeferre are postponing their wedding till next year?"

"Yes, out of deference to Claudine's mourning for her father."

"Bahorel has a new case to work on?"

"Two in fact."

Marius sighed with relief that he had been more or less correct as to what his friends were up to. "No one knows if Bossuet is bringing Marthe with him later?" he clarified.

She shrugged. "It's like a powder keg between them."

"I think they will only figure that out when something happens like Eponine and Enjolras getting engaged," he remarked ruefully.

This time Cosette frowned sceptically. "I don't think the latter is impossible. I'm actually waiting for it to happen any day," she pointed out.

"Any day?" he repeated. "How can you be so sure?"

"Don't you remember how he was looking at her during Joly and Musichetta's wedding? I am sure the thought at least occurred to both of them that time."

Marius laughed, remembering that moment when Enjolras had been utterly lost for words on seeing Eponine in her bridesmaid's attire. "Still, wouldn't it be a bit soon?"

"Marius, you wanted to marry me not even _two months_ after we first conversed with each other at the Rue Plumet," she pointed out. "Our friends have known each other for much longer in comparison."

"That at least counts for something," Marius said. "I wonder though if Enjolras knows about my cousin trying to propose to Eponine."

"I'm sure he knows," Cosette replied. "If I know Eponine even a little, I am sure she would have disclosed the matter to him by now."

Marius sighed, knowing that his wife was not referring at all to the fact that she and Eponine had been children together, but to the fact that over the past six months they had become more than just childhood friends but also co-writers, confidantes, and comrades in the same political club. To put it more succinctly, they were more like sisters now than ever. In fact sometimes Marius almost forgot, at least till he looked at his scars, that once Eponine had been jealous and bitter about Cosette's happiness to the point she was ready to indirectly cause his death and hers. '_It almost feels like another lifetime has passed since then,' _he thought, recalling how it had also been to wake up and confront Eponine about her deception, only to find out some time later that she'd somehow become acquainted with Theodule during her attempts to visit the Rue des Filles du Calvaire.

In the meantime Cosette was tying a blue shawl to add some contrast to her light pink dress. "If I had to put words to it, I would have to say that Eponine fancied you, cared about Theodule, but after all that she loves Enjolras," she mused aloud.

"Fancied? How could a fancy drive her to..."

"A very strong fancy, the kind that is passionate and desperate and doesn't know much of anything from afar. I've seen it before, at Picpus. It was over something we little girls could not see, a fellow who was playing a romantic tune on the flute. We all had the most ludicrous ideas about what he might be, like some young prince or handsome artist."

Marius could not help but laugh at this story, at least till he inadvertently pictured his aunt as being one of those girls at least in her utmost youth. "What was he in the end?"

"A blind old gentleman, ruined in battle and playing music to pass the time," Cosette said. "Once we saw what he was, it changed things for a lot of the other girls and they found him less charming but more of someone to pity."

Marius nodded as he understood the analogy that Cosette was driving at. "She knew that even then I was already in love with you."

"Which made it all the more romantic for her. But I don't think she knew of your grandfather, or everything else you had been through," Cosette replied. "You never talked to her about it."

"I never thought to," Marius confessed. To him, Eponine had merely been a waif and a shadow consigned to the den next to his old lodgings, and then later she was merely his guide to the Rue Plumet. '_If I talked to her, would things have been different?' _he wondered but he found this possibility a little difficult to fully envision. "My cousin claims he loves her," he said at length. "I had thought some time back that they had a chance of it."

"Oh Marius, you know how easy it is for him to say things," she said. "He means well, but he does not have a suitable or decorous way of showing it."

"She didn't have a decorous way of answering either."

"Theodule probably didn't mean it, and she had to get away from him. Can anyone blame a woman for preserving her honor?"

Marius winced as he imagined what had most likely transpired before he, Cosette, his aunt, as well as Grantaire and Emile, had found Theodule doubled up with pain with Eponine standing nearby with a furious and aghast expression on her pretty face. Before he could remark on this, he heard Basque knock on the door to inform them that the first of their guests had arrived.

Perhaps thanks to Cosette's efforts, Marius found that conversing with his friends was now far easier than he'd thought. Even as he listened to Courfeyrac and Bossuet regaling him with stories, he said a silent prayer of thanks for his very loving and astute wife. '_What would I do without her?' _he couldn't help wondering even as more of their friends arrived.

It was almost dinnertime by the time Enjolras, Eponine, and the three Thenardier boys arrived. Eponine quickly went to where her sister, as well as Cosette and some other ladies had withdrawn to one corner of the drawing room for a quieter chat. Enjolras and the youngsters joined the rest of the group at the other end of the room.

Even from afar Marius could see the calm levity in Enjolras' countenance, as if he was the bearer of some good news. "I can guess it is nothing political," Grantaire quipped on seeing him.

"It is political, some surprise development. Why else would you be willing to share it to us?" Marthe chimed in.

"Grantaire is in the right of it," Enjolras said. "Eponine and I have agreed to marry."

Marius felt his jaw drop on hearing these seven words, even as he was vaguely cognizant of the exclamations of shock and congratulations from the rest of the group. "How did you ask her?' he finally managed to blurt out. "You have thought of this, haven't you?"

"The matter at least. The question came up in the course of a fairly simple conversation," Enjolras said.

"A conversation where?" Prouvaire demanded. "Not at home I hope?'

"It was at home, under perfectly ordinary circumstances," Enjolras said. "I do not see the point in befuddling the matter with a grand gesture."

"No flowers, no dinner, no letters-" Bahorel began.

"Did you at least have coffee?" Combeferre asked.

"Coffee at the kitchen table," Enjolras deadpanned.

Marius was nearly floored at this confession. "Enjolras, if I didn't know any better I would think you are merely joking," he said.

Prouvaire was aghast. "That does not count as a proposal, ask her again!"

Just then Marius saw Eponine walking up to them, smiling amusedly as if she had heard everything. "It certainly does," she said.

"Are you quite sure about that?" Enjolras asked even as one of his hands found hers.

She looked him in the eye. "I said yes, didn't I?"

Marius had to bite back a chuckle at this scene. '_Who would have thought these two would ever manage it?' _he caught himself wondering as he watched his friends converse. He glanced at Cosette, who was clearly on the verge of laughing, and then shrugged by way of apology. Clearly it was about time he started learning to see some things with his own eyes.


	17. Chapter 17

_A/N: Some fluff with a little angst this time, with the entire Thenardier brood and some others at the Rue Guisarde. A warning here for some discussions on infertility and abortion. _

**17: A Little Bit at a Time**

"Can Laure play with us tomorrow?"

"If you add maybe a whole year to tomorrow, maybe. You know she can't even sit up yet, Jacques."

Jacques scowled impatiently as he kicked off his shoes and plopped down next to Laure on the quilt that Eponine put on the floor of the living room. He watched as his niece looked up at him and squealed by way of greeting. "How can she ever have fun if she can't play because she's so little?" he asked his oldest sister.

"She has fun in her own way, I s'pose. She's always watching everything," Eponine replied as she looked up from mending one of her skirts. She laughed as she watched Laure trying to mimic Jacques' efforts to make faces at her until she reached out and swatted his nose. '_Maybe everyone will forget that they wanted to take a stroll later,' _she mused ruefully as she looked towards the window, which was slick from the incessant afternoon downpour. What had started off as Sunday lunch at home had now resulted with her entire household, as well as Azelma and Jehan, all piled in the living room to chat or more likely just to pester each other. By now Gavroche, with the help of the cat, was trying to distract Neville from thumbing through another large book, while Jehan and Enjolras were discussing an impassioned poetry cycle they'd heard in a recent gathering. Azelma was seated at one corner of the quilt and humming as she made some sketches, but soon she abandoned this in favour of joining Jacques and Laure at their game.

Eponine tied off the thread and set the newly repaired skirt aside before joining the trio on the quilt. "Laure! Look here!" she called to her daughter, who giggled and pushed herself up on her arms. She scooted over to cuddle the little girl and smooth out her now much rumpled dress. As she did this she happened to catch sight of Azelma sighing as she quickly swiped at her eyes. "Zelma? Is something wrong?" she asked.

Azelma shook her head. "It's too small for you to worry about."

Eponine bit her lip at this dismissive answer. '_The last time I simply left things as she said them, that ended up with a man dead and a whole mess about it,' _she recalled. It would be some time till they, as well as Enjolras, Jehan, and a good many of their friends could all say that they'd truly lived down the dire consequences of what the presses had referred to as 'The Affair of Madame Guillotine's Collar'. While she doubted that Azelma was in any danger of blundering into another dangerous fix of this sort, she was still determined to find out something of her sister's apparent melancholy. She scooped up Laure and brought her over to where Enjolras was now listening with interest to Jehan's exuberant explanation of some pastoral imagery in the verses. She squeezed Enjolras' arm and kissed his cheek. "Your turn. Azelma and I will just get us all some biscuits and something to drink," she said as she handed Laure to him.

Enjolras quickly adjusted his hold on the baby, who squealed for a moment with surprised protest before immediately calming down and snuggling up in the crook of his elbow. "Is she already tired of being on the floor?" he asked.

"I don't think so. Don't you wish she'd start talking so she'd tell us?" she teased.

"When she does, that will be the end of all quiet in this house," Enjolras quipped dryly.

Jehan snickered. "I can already picture her trying to beat the boys at their games, or following both of you around."

"Until she realizes we can't answer _all_ of her questions," Eponine said before quickly going to where Azelma had picked up her sketches again. "Zelma, could you please come with me to the kitchen for a little bit?"

Azelma gave her sister a sceptical look. "You never ask for help with cooking."

"No, but I s'pose I'll need help with bringing some things out," Eponine replied, trying not to sound too overly concerned. "Besides I think you should pick what biscuits we'll eat."

Azelma looked down at her sketches for a moment before setting them on the settee and then following Eponine to the kitchen. "I sometimes wish you didn't notice everything, Ponine," she said as soon as they were out of earshot.

"I s'pose I can't help worrying if you were smiling one minute then the next you were almost crying," Eponine pointed out as she brought out the kettle to begin making some coffee.

Azelma was silent for a little while as she fetched a tin of biscuits, which had been an unexpected gift from one of Neville's friends at school. "In two weeks it will be four months since Jehan and I got married, and nearly two years since we first were together." She swiped at her eyes again. "I was wondering why there's no sign of me having a child after all this time."

For a moment Eponine was at a loss for words. "Oh Zelma, you know that these things take time," she said, touching her sister's shoulder.

"Not _too _much time," Azelma replied. "You were with child before Christmas last year. Courfeyrac got Paulette with child the first time they were together. I'm sure that Marius and Cosette conceived Georges on their wedding night or close to it."

"It wasn't as if any of us were expecting that sort of thing to happen too soon. Anyway some of the others like Bahorel and Therese, or even Claudine and Combeferre have been together for years and they don't have children yet," Eponine pointed out as she found some cups to serve the coffee in. '_Though that's partly because some of them have used pennyroyal, some have been ill, and Claudine has problems with her bleeding,' _she thought but she bit her lip to keep from voicing this out.

"Jehan is an only child. His parents don't have anything to do with him anymore and I don't think they'd meet any grandchild of theirs, but it still matters to him a great deal. He'd be a good father, you can agree with me on that," Azelma confided. "I don't want to disappoint him."

'_I don't think you could truly disappoint him even if you aimed to do that,' _Eponine thought. "Maybe you should ask Combeferre to help you figure out if you and Jehan have some problem, and if there is something you can do about it," she suggested.

Azelma reddened slightly. "Wouldn't that be embarrassing?"

"I don't s'pose it could be any worse than seeing some of those old women with their instruments. At least you won't die from a simple looking over from a good doctor," Eponine replied bluntly. She and Azelma had been fortunate that they never had cause to visit these establishments, but she had lost count of how many times she'd seen other girls writhing in pain or pale from bleeding after these traumatic excursions.

Azelma nodded pensively. "So you didn't want to have a child right away?"

Eponine paused as she heard laughter coming from the living room; even through the din of her brothers' chatter and Jehan's quick replies she could still pick out Laure's babbling as well as Enjolras' clear, rich baritone voice. "I had thought that Antoine and I would have a little more time to be settled, especially with caring for the boys and all the things we have to do at work, but I'm not sorry at all that Laure came along when she did," she said. She never could regret it, especially since she had already loved Laure even before really meeting her, and had silently resolved to protect her although her very existence was a mere possibility and a dream.

"I've never seen you and Enjolras so tired, but I've never heard you two laugh so much before either," Azelma said."In your case, at least since we were little."

"Oh it's not like when we were playing with dolls, Zelma."

"I know. That's the better part of it."

Eponine smiled at this acknowledgment. "I don't think you ought to worry overmuch or hurry it all up. You're still young, you know."

Azelma sniffed. "Not much younger than you."

"Maybe you and Jehan ought to finish first staging that play and writing those pieces for the concert in December. You won't have much time for it soon enough," Eponine remarked as she went to the stove to check on the coffee. She took a deep breath to relish its rich aroma. "It will probably happen when you least expect it," she added.

Her sister finally managed a smile as she tipped some biscuits onto a large plate. "The best of things always seem to do," she said before they brought the food back into the living room, where the laughter had started up once again.

Eponine did not hold back her own chuckling when she found Enjolras now on the quilt letting Laure pull on his hair and his waistcoat. "You are so lucky that her grip isn't as strong as mine," she joked as she set down the food and then sat next to her husband.

"Yet," Enjolras pointed out as he carefully set Laure down next to them so that she was lying on her stomach. He looked to where Azelma was now pulling Jehan aside, carefully sidestepping where Gavroche, Neville, and Jacques were now devouring the biscuits. "Is everything well with them?"

Eponine nodded as she nestled her head under his chin while he settled one of his arms around her waist. "They merely have to talk about something," she said. She could only wonder what her brother-in-law would have to say by way of reassuring Azelma, but she was certain that in the end they would be able to make the situation come to rights. '_Soon enough Azelma will get a little girl who's just as sweet as she can be, or maybe a boy who will surprise her,' _she thought.

Suddenly Laure squealed, which prompted her parents to quickly look in her direction. "Antoine, did she just roll all by herself?" Eponine asked, realizing that Laure was lying on her back and looking quite surprised that she had managed the feat.

"So it may seem," Enjolras said bemusedly. "You're a terribly clever girl, aren't you?" he said, letting Laure grab his fingers.

Just then Jacques ran up to them, getting biscuit crumbs everywhere. "I saw that! There's something she can do!" he crowed excitedly.

"That's one thing, Jacques. It will still be a while till she can play like you do," Eponine pointed out.

"It won't be tomorrow and a year though!" Jacques said triumphantly before diving onto the quilt to join in the fun.


	18. Chapter 18

_A/N: Thanks to NorwegianAlien for this prompt. _

**18: Vocabulary Lessons**

Even before Enjolras could walk around the corner into the Rue Guisarde, he already had the distinct feeling that this evening would be yet another busy one for him. '_From one thing to another,' _he thought as he adjusted his satchel, which was crammed with some documents he'd decided to bring home for yet another late night of reading. As he stepped into the front yard of his home, he saw Eponine on the doorstep, quickly giving instructions to Gavroche before shutting the door. She was dressed to go out, having changed her plain blue work dress for a fancier green one, in addition to the fact that she still wore her hair pinned up and back away from her face.

"Is there anything you need, Eponine?" he asked by way of greeting, remembering now that she had mentioned earlier that day that she and her friends had to make an important call at the Rue du Gindre.

She smiled happily when she turned and she saw him. "Everything is mostly fine," she said as she hopped off the step and went to meet him. He lost no time in furthering his greeting with a chaste kiss that nevertheless had her grinning with undisguised affection. "And you?" she asked in a low voice as she pulled him close and began loosening his cravat.

"Have a great deal to accomplish," he replied as he clasped her hands before her fingers could begin to work on the buttons of his coat. It was unusually warm even for a September evening, and although he was relieved to be free of his stifling cravat, his proximity to Eponine was fast making the entire point moot. He reached over to help her adjust her bonnet and he heard her breath catch as his fingers brushed against her neck. "What about the boys?"

"They have assignments for tomorrow, and they had a row about the _dictionary_ of all things!" Eponine said, rolling her eyes with fond exasperation. "I told Gavroche to make sure that Neville and Jacques work on their essays, but I s'pose that might be the start of another row."

Enjolras smirked, already guessing how the past quarter of an hour must have been. "It can still be averted," he said reassuringly as he clasped her shoulder.

She nodded, somehow understanding what he meant to do. "Thank you. I'll be back as soon as I can, Antoine," she said as she squeezed his hand. "I have to make sure you actually get some sleep tonight," she added more teasingly in his ear.

It was all he could do not to redden at the very interesting implications of her reply. "Well then you'd better be careful," he said calmly as he walked her to the gate. He knew better than to suggest accompanying her to her destination or coming by for her after her appointment. After all she was more than capable of getting herself and her friends safely home. "Till later then," he simply said as he let go of her hand.

"As always," she said as she stepped out into the street.

Enjolras waited till he was sure that Eponine had safely reached the street corner before he went into their home. He already knew that she had left out some dinner for him, but instead of heading to the kitchen he took off his coat and went to the study. Even before he opened the door he could already hear the Thenardier boys bickering once again. "Might I remind you three that this is _not_ the way to make use of your books?" he deadpanned when he saw Gavroche and Neville on one side of a row of tomes, with Jacques fuming on the other.

Gavroche gave Jacques a filthy look. "I told you it wasn't funny."

"He won't do his writing even if Ponine told him to," Neville said, pointing to his younger brother.

"I will but not the way you want me to!" Jacques shot back.

Enjolras' eyes narrowed at the three boys. Although he knew what to expect from youngsters' shenanigans owing to his days in boarding school, he was just as aware that his very young brothers-in-law posed quite a different challenge in terms of discipline. "Put these books back on the shelves, and in the proper order, by the way," he said to Gavroche and Neville. "Eponine said you have something to write?" he asked Jacques sternly.

Jacques looked down, no longer hiding his mortification. "It's for history class."

"Well, what about it?"

"Citizen Guyon said we have to find out what liberty, equality and fraternity mean. Neville said it's in the dictionary but there are too many words there and it's so boring!"

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "Where then do you expect to find your answer?"

"You or Ponine could tell me since you talk about it a lot," Jacques replied. "Citizen Guyon didn't say we couldn't ask someone bigger than us!"

'_He's clever,' _Enjolras silently conceded. It wouldn't be the first time that Jacques had tried to use a trick of reasoning to get his way. "I will explain some of it to you, but _after_ you read a little about it," he said. To help him along he found one book in the stack and handed it to him. "Are we agreed on this?"

Jacques nodded. "Did you read it too when you were little?"

"No. Books like this were not as easy to find, _petit," _Enjolras said. He could still remember clearly how the rector at the boarding school had nearly gone apoplectic at the mere mention of these 'sans-culotte notions', and ordered him to turn his palms up for a good caning. That had been twenty years and a whole revolution ago, but even in those early days he had refused to be curtailed. After making sure that Jacques was properly engrossed in reading, Enjolras went to help Neville with his own work, which turned out to be a brief explanation on geography.

A quarter of an hour later, Enjolras heard Jacques close the book and amble over. "So does liberty mean everyone gets to do what they want?" the little boy asked.

"Well, not exactly," Enjolras replied cautiously. He paused, wishing now he had some memory of his parents or his teachers properly explaining these concepts to him, but unfortunately for him he'd been more inclined to reading about civics as opposed to asking about it. "What that means is that each citizen is allowed to think or act. But that doesn't mean they are allowed to hurt other people, or stop them from also thinking or acting in their own ways."

Jacques frowned. "So why do you and Ponine say I should do my assignments?"

"Because you have to understand your lessons properly, since that is how to learn how to use liberty in the best way," Enjolras said after a moment. He could see Gavroche trying his best to hold in his laughter while Neville had already abandoned his own essay to listen in with interest. "Liberty needs agreements and rules, otherwise everyone would be fighting each other," he added. "For example, you agreed to do the reading before I did the explaining."

"Is it also like how you and Ponine always like to discuss things and what to do?" Jacques asked.

"Something like that, sometimes," Enjolras replied quickly. "Any other questions?"

"Does equality mean everybody has to be exactly the same?" Neville chimed in as he let his cat jump into his lap. "That's what happens in math."

"No. It means everyone has the same chance to work, to go to school, to vote, to say what they believe in, and to do the things that other citizens do. You boys and your friends—even other children who aren't your friends- will have the same opportunity to do great things regardless of what you're good at or what you want to do. The law will make sure you have that chance."

"So why can't we vote till we're bigger?" Jacques asked.

"Because you don't know enough yet to vote, like all other kids do," Gavroche said. "You're the same as all other kids."

"That's not fair, why did he get to fight at the barricades?" Neville said, pointing to Gavroche.

"Those were rather different times, Neville," Enjolras pointed out seriously. "Nowadays he won't be allowed to."

Gavroche stuck out his tongue. "You'll lose the big cats among the kittens."

"If a cat does not simply rush into danger, then more prudence should be expected from a person of reason," Enjolras retorted. "Are we clear on that?"

Jacques nodded. "I don't like fraternity if it means that everyone should be like brothers," he muttered as he scowled at his own siblings.

Enjolras now found it difficult to keep a straight face. "It means you have to protect each other, and not treat each other as any less or any greater than the other," he said at length.

"Even if they are bigger or smaller?" Jacques asked.

"Yes, you could say that. You'll understand better when you're older."

Gavroche howled with laughter while the two younger Thenardiers groaned. "That's what everyone already says!" Jacques whined.

"Maybe if you read more, you'll understand it better," Neville said smugly.

"Well not everything is in those books, Neville. I believe Citizen Guyon will explain this more easily tomorrow, so you two would do well to finish your essays right away and then also listen to his lesson," Enjolras said. He let out a sigh of relief as the two boys finally went off to finish their compositions. '_Hopefully it will be some time till I will have to make this sort of explanation all over again,' _he thought before going to his own desk to begin seeing to his own work.


	19. Chapter 19

_A/N: This little outtake came to mind during exams. And also because the Changer deserves more love_

**19: On Gifts and Burdens**

If there was one thing that boggled Isaac Defarge,a man known better to others as the Changer, it was the art of sharing one's living quarters. '_This refuge is far too small for three men,' _he grumbled silently one April evening as he took his pipe and headed downstairs into the yard of the small apartment at the Rue del'Ouest. He rubbed his temples as he leaned against the fence and silently said a prayer of thanks for the mild weather that had permitted him to take a respite from Montparnasse and Babet's bickering. Had it not been for necessity and some gratitude towards his unexpected benefactors, he might have considered taking his leave of the hideout and waiting elsewhere till his promised escape could be properly arranged.

He looked up and down the quiet street, marvelling a little ruefully at the apparent tranquillity of his surroundings. '_It is serenity that endures, not tumult,' _he reflected as he took a deep breath. The past few months had not been particularly good for him: first the revolution had driven away or at least dampened much of his business, then the intrigues surrounding the counterrevolutionary efforts only complicated matters, and then at last he had been forced to give up his ample lodgings on the Rue des Forneaux. Perhaps, he thought, he could survive a life of upheaval if he could be allowed a few occasional moments such as this.

As he shook some ash away from his clothes, he caught sight of three figures walking along the street, pausing from time to time as if they were searching for an address. One of these searchers was a girl, or at least Isaac guessed as much from the height and shape of the silhouette. Before he could extinguish his pipe, he heard a sound that was a cross between a whistle and a wheeze. He chuckled as he recognized this feeble attempt at a signal. "The promenade of the Luxembourg is several miles behind you, Citizenness Thenardier."

The girl gasped, as if startled. "Citizen Isaac! We've come looking for you, actually." Azelma Thenardier's face was pale and harried as she came into sight. "I've brought two friends, but they're harmless."

"They are good men. Good evening to you, Citizen Prouvaire and Citizen Bahorel," Isaac said, recognizing the slight young poet as well as the brash detective accompanying the girl. Had it not been for Azelma and her obviously worried state, he might have refused to entertain them altogether. "I'm sorry that I cannot receive you three properly; the upstairs rooms are all a mess," he added as he opened the carriage gate.

Bahorel sighed. "Can we step inside the house at least?"

"Of course. I never conduct my business in the street," Isaac replied.

Prouvaire smiled amiably. "As long as we cannot be disturbed or overheard, Citizen," he said. "Azelma said you're a good friend of her family."

"After a fashion," Isaac replied, smiling as he remembered Eponine's visit less than a fortnight ago. He quietly took stock of Prouvaire's badly coordinated blue coat and trousers and clucked his tongue, for it was all he could do not to make a sartorial suggestion or two. The urge only increased when he let the young people into the house's front room, where the light allowed him to get a better look at his guests. He shook his head on seeing that Bahorel's waistcoat was in a far too brash shade of crimson, while Azelma's satin cloak was just a shade too dark for her lavender dress. He realized now that Prouvaire was carrying a large box. "I'm no longer in the habit of receiving presents, young man," he said.

"It's not a present. It's Madame Guillotine's Collar," Bahorel chimed in.

The mention of this infamous necklace sent a shiver up Isaac's back. For a moment he tried to picture Azelma's thin neck seemingly set aflame with crystal, gold, and a ruby so pure that it was rumoured to have been steeped in blood. "What do you mean to do with it?" he asked once he could banish this horrifying vision from his mind's eye.

"Get rid of it," Azelma said quickly. She looked down for a moment as if she was trying to summon the courage to speak further. "I can never wear it again since it's caused so much trouble," she added as her cheeks reddened when her gaze met Prouvaire's anxious one.

Isaac paused to consider the trio again. He did not have to divine Prouvaire's reason for accompanying Azelma; the tie between them was no secret even in the Parisian underworld. Bahorel was clearly playing the protective older sibling of sorts to the pair. Yet was it possible that there were other reasons for the young men's presence? '_Bahorel may be an agent of the law and Prouvaire is a respectable poet, but they've somehow thrown in their lot with Azelma,' _he thought. Had they wished to sell her out, they would have done so a long time ago. It was unlikely that Azelma was being used as a pawn or a dupe to trap him and his companions; the younger Thenardiers were not the sort to be easily used for such means, and most agents of the Prefecture and the Surete had other ways of entrapment. He drummed his fingers on his elbow. "You could have broken up the necklace yourself," he said cautiously.

"I'm not sure if that would be a good idea since there is some money in a whole necklace. But breaking it up still leaves the problem of the pendant, and I don't know what to do with that," Azelma admitted. "Ponine told me you'd know what to do."

'_She means well,' _Isaac decided, seeing that there was no change in Azelma's manner. The younger Thenardier girl had always been guileless, at least in comparison to her older sister and her younger brother. Isaac smiled more reassuringly at her. "Then you have nothing to fear. May I see it first?"

Prouvaire opened the case to reveal an intricate necklace of three strands that converged onto a large, tear-drop shaped ruby. "The beads are genuine stones; they aren't common glass," he commented.

"But still comparatively worth little, when you consider the ruby," Isaac noted. While the gold filigree, quartz and tortoiseshell in the piece were surely of good quality, he doubted they added substantially to the price that the centrepiece itself commanded. "You could break the necklace up—saving the clasp too—and sell the beads and metal for a few francs."

"What of the ruby then?" Bahorel asked.

"Therein lies the problem," Isaac said gravely. Even to his relatively untrained eye he could see that the stone was quite disproportionate to the rest of the necklace. '_A smaller stone cut flat into a cabochon would have been more suitable and more commonplace,' _he thought. Such an unusually shaped stone was more difficult to dispose of discreetly.

Azelma stirred uneasily. "I heard that rubies come from very far away, and that it takes a great deal to get them into France. Might there be some nasty story to it?"

"It is most likely. You would know the price," Isaac said. The mere mention of this only heightened his uneasiness at handling the jewelry. '_But who would take it on?' _he wondered as he put the necklace back into the case.

Prouvaire placed a hand on Azelma's knee. "We don't have to decide this right away."

Azelma shook her head. "I want it away before someone else remembers where it still is."

Isaac cleared his throat. "You'd better follow what the little lady says," he said to Prouvaire. "We can break up the necklace now. It will make the ruby easier to hide." Before anyone could say anything Isaac headed upstairs to the third floor room. He laughed when he opened the door and found Babet sitting up next to a candle while Montparnasse was snoring on the bed. "So much for vitality!"

"Experience," Babet said with a smirk. "So little Azelma Thenardier is back here for a favour? It must be a big one if she didn't ask Eponine."

"She's sending something into Pantin," Isaac said gravely as he began rummaging for scissors, pliers, and some rags. "Something she never should have had."

"Which is?"

"Madame Guillotine's Collar. The Duchamp necklace."

"Ah, clambering now for respectability?" Babet laughed, adjusting his bandaged legs so that he was more comfortable. "Though she may have another thing coming by running in that poet's circle. It's not quite say, the Parisian legislature. It's at least closer to where those girls began."

Isaac grunted as he finally located the implements he'd been searching for. "Between you and me, she and Montparnasse there were never truly equals," he muttered. On the surface it seemed as if the young hooligan and the waif had been a perfect match, but that had always been a simplistic way of looking at the matter. Montparnasse had moved mainly for vanity, but Azelma had aspired to have a name. He excused himself and went down to where his guests had laid out the necklace on top of the box. He chuckled when he saw Bahorel's eyebrows shoot up on catching sight of the tools. "It is a fairly simple process," he said as he sat down beside them. "The necklace is knotted at various points, so one must cut the thread between the knots. The filigree is held in place with wires, so the pliers will be useful here," he explained.

Azelma nodded slowly as she picked up the scissors to begin working on one of the strands. "We were thinking that we ought to send the ruby to a collector, to a museum maybe," she said.

"One out of Paris, preferably," Bahorel said.

Isaac let out a deep sigh. "How will you bring it there?"

"That is just what we're working out," Azelma replied.

"Ah," Isaac said before rummaging in his pocket for his pipe, now that he felt once again the need to fortify himself. '_What if then, it should fall to me?' _the thought occurred to him. It was becoming clearer to him now that there was little he could hope to do outside of the confines of the Rue del'Ouest, and that the mad plan of starting over elsewhere, and under a different name would be the only sure way for him to see another year.

In order to dispel this melancholy thought, he turned his attention to watching Prouvaire and Azelma at work with their friend. This pair was gay and affectionate; if Isaac had not been privy to recent events he might have believed them to still be in their first illusions of romance. Yet on closer inspection he realized that there was some poignancy in how the two seemingly clung to each other, as if one would disappear without the other's hand resting nearby. _'Like those who have come close to the extremes of loss,' _he realized.

He waited till Azelma was busy with sorting the beads before he motioned for Prouvaire to join him near the front door. "Her father was no veteran, but he was an innkeeper. That should count for something," he said seriously to Prouvaire.

The young man smiled knowingly at him. "If her father was a rag-picker, it wouldn't matter to me. She's not her father."

"But she's her father's daughter. That can be what you Christians call a sort of cross," Isaac said.

"But not a burden," Prouvaire answered. He smiled as he watched Azelma chatting with Bahorel. "To me, she was always more than just one of the Thenardier girls. I know someday, people will know that."

"So will you-" Isaac asked tentatively.

Prouvaire nodded. "If she will have me. I am sure though that even without that, she will make a name for herself. She's brilliant, and I think much wiser today than I can ever hope to be."

Isaac looked down, hearing the brave resolve and admiration in the poet's tone. "May Yahweh make you prosperous and bless your house," he finally said in Hebrew. He smiled when he saw Prouvaire nod with understanding. "You know Hebrew?"

"Only to read Isaiah," the poet confessed. "One of the most far-seeing of prophets."

Isaac laughed. "It is a good start," he said as they returned to their work.


	20. Chapter 20

_A/N: For clearascountryair. A lighthearted direct follow up to Outtake 1. _

**20: Wagers**

It was a fact that no discussion with the Thenardier boys, particularly on serious matters, could ever really go according to plan. '_It probably does not help that they guessed the situation even before last night,' _Enjolras thought as he listened to the brothers' chatter over their usual breakfast of bread, cheese, eggs, and dried fruit. He caught Eponine's eye as she grimaced while setting aside a glass of milk. '_It will take a while till she gets used to not drinking coffee,' _he realized.

The truth was that this change in habits would only be the first of many things they would have to get used to over the next few months, or for that matter for the next few years. It was just as well, Enjolras decided, for everything in his life over the past few months had been one upheaval after another, thankfully mostly for the better. He took a deep breath before sipping from his own cup of coffee. Perhaps he and Eponine shouldn't have stayed up so late just talking. '_Then again there was much we needed to have out before getting any rest,' _he reminded himself.

Eponine wiped her mouth with her sleeve before squeezing Enjolras' arm. "You're staring again," she whispered teasingly.

He merely shrugged, but even then he knew that the smile forming on his face already gave him away. Sometimes he still found it difficult to believe that for the past year, rowdy breakfasts with the Thenardiers and their friends had become part and parcel of his life. After last night, he could dare to hope that the coming years would only bring more lively memories of this sort.

Across the table, little Jacques let out an obnoxious burp. "Ponine and Enjolras have to tell us something," he said in a singsong tone.

"Yes, they're having a baby. I told you so," Neville drawled. "Why else would Ponine always be so sick in the mornings?"

"There are other reasons for that sort of thing, but yes you're right," Eponine said, sounding a little discomfited at the fact that her brother had picked up on this unusual occurrence. "You boys are going to be uncles."

Neville made a face. "We're too young!"

"It happens in some families. My oldest niece is older than some of my younger cousins," Enjolras pointed out. He noticed Gavroche watching them with a sly expression. "Well then?"

"You'll do better than Rousseau," Gavroche quipped before stuffing a chunk of bread in his mouth. "So when is that little one coming?"

"August," Eponine deadpanned as she rubbed her still flat stomach. "It's a long way boys, but I s'pose it gives us a little more time to be ready," she said as the younger boys groaned and made faces.

"I want the baby to be a boy," Jacques declared.

"Not if it's a boy who is as noisy as you," Neville muttered.

Jacques pouted indignantly. "I'm not the one who didn't want to go to sleep last night."

"Why do you have to tell everything?" Neville snapped.

"Now don't start that, you two. You'd better finish your breakfasts before you're late for your classes," Enjolras warned them sternly.

Meanwhile Eponine was biting her lip thoughtfully. "Could you boys do something for us?" She paused as she watched them nod eagerly. "Can you please not tell anyone about what we just told you? I'd like it to remain a little secret for a while."

"But why?" Jacques asked impetuously.

"Because there will be no end of clucking once everyone knows," Gavroche remarked. "I'll make sure they keep their mouths shut, Ponine."

"Do it _nicely_, Gavroche," Eponine said. She rolled her eyes when Gavroche merely gave her a cheeky salute before chasing their younger siblings upstairs. "You'd better remind him in a little bit. Sometimes he heeds you better than me,' she said to Enjolras.

"Sometimes being the important word," he reminded her.

She smiled before finishing her own glass of milk. "I s'pose now we can write to your parents, and I probably should tell Azelma later today or she'll make a fuss. I don't want to tell anyone else outside of family for a little while."

"She's going to tell Jehan at the very least," Enjolras pointed out. He knew that his sister-in-law was now making it a point to disclose as much as she could to her intended, if only to prevent any other debacles like the scandal that had nearly driven them apart. "He'll be discreet about it though."

Eponine glanced upwards at the sound of running footsteps. "Aside from Combeferre and Claudine, no one else knows, but it won't be long till Joly figures it out too. Maybe Musichetta as well."

"Cosette is likely to guess once you begin asking her for advice," Enjolras pointed out.

"I s'pose Grantaire will guess it easily too."

"Well then, how?"

"Grantaire will guess the next time we are all together and I do not pick up his glass of wine for him," she said. "I always do that to help keep him sober."

He scoffed quite audibly. "Then anyone would be able to guess, and not only him."

"The question is guessing _first_," she said, swatting his arm. "You know what happens after."

He laughed knowingly. "The point of secrecy then becomes moot."

She smiled as she leaned in to run her hands through his hair and kissed his jaw when his breath caught at her touch. "I'm still willing to bet that Grantaire will guess first."

Enjolras' eyebrows shot up curiously. "Are you actually making a wager in earnest?"

"Something like it, but it would be silly to use money though," she said in a mischievous tone. "Are you still insistent that Cosette will guess first?"

"Certainly," he said, not willing to lose this harmless competition to Eponine, of all people. "What will happen if you win?"

She bit her lip thoughtfully before running her hand over his shoulder. "You have to do what I tell you to do for three days."

"That is very vague."

"You asked. I don't know how well I'll be feeling or how busy we'll both be, so it wouldn't work to be too exacting. Anyway if you win, I'll do the same."

Enjolras nodded, seeing the advantage in the flexibility of this arrangement. '_I cannot suggest anything too difficult for her to do in her state,' _he thought. He clasped her hand and brought it to his lips as he met her eyes. "Then it is an agreement."

Unfortunately for them it seemed that over the next few days their friends were utterly oblivious to any changes, or if they noticed anything, no one made any comment. At least that was how it seemed to Enjolras until a whole fortnight later when everyone was at Courfeyrac's new home near the Quai de Ecole. This house was large enough both for Courfeyrac and his little son Armand, and also provided enough space for Courfeyrac's personal office. '_Apparently there is also enough space for revelry,' _Enjolras noted as he watched Eponine and some of their friends running circles around Grantaire in a new game called Twenty Questions, while others were exchanging stories and gossip over wine and some refreshments.

At that moment Courfeyrac walked up, carrying Armand. "You may as well practice. You'll need it in a few months," he said amiably as he handed the giggling little boy to Enjolras.

Enjolras would have dropped his godson had it not been for his presence of mind. "What do you mean?" he asked cautiously.

Courfeyrac laughed as he clapped Enjolras on his shoulder. "So when are you and Eponine welcoming your own little one into this world?"

"Next summer," Enjolras replied as he wiped some drool off Armand's chin. "How did you know?"

"She's smiling a little like how Paulette used to," Courfeyrac said with a wistful look. "It's one thing to care for younger siblings or relatives, but it's a completely different situation when it's your own."

Enjolras nodded by way of agreement as he chucked Armand under the chin. The truth was that fatherhood had changed Courfeyrac more profoundly in ways that a successful revolution could not. He wondered if the same would be true for him as well. "Have you ever told your parents about Armand?"

"I notified them but they did not deign to write back," Courfeyrac replied. From his tone it was evident that he viewed it less as a cross to bear and more of a loss on his parents' part. "Do your parents know that they will soon be grandparents?"

"I expect to hear from them soon," Enjolras said, already imagining how voluminous and enthusiastic his parents' missives would be.

"That and they'll surely be back in Paris next year to meet the newest member of the family," Courfeyrac remarked as he let Armand tug on his watch chain.

Enjolras clasped Courfeyrac's shoulder, silently wishing now for a similar good turn of fortune for his friend. "Has anyone else figured out as well?"

At that moment a chorus of cheers and laughter came from the group playing twenty questions, followed by Bahorel's enthusiastic shout of "Congratulations!" Courfeyrac laughed again and shook his head. "You may as well ask who _hasn't_!"

"Indeed," Enjolras said before handing Armand back to his father and motioning for them to join the group. He found a seat beside Eponine, who was very red in the face but clearly on the verge of laughing. "Who?" he asked.

Eponine now began giggling quite unabashedly. "Feuilly guessed too, and so did Nicholine!"

"It was only a matter of time, my friends. My congratulations to you two," Feuilly said with a broad grin.

Enjolras nodded gratefully. "Since we both lost our wager, we have to undergo the same consequence," he told Eponine.

She gave him a conspiratorial grin. "I can think of ways to make the next three days interesting for us."

He smirked as he discreetly squeezed her hand, allowing himself to imagine for a little bit what she could possibly have in mind.


	21. Chapter 21

_A/N: Something from Jehan's POV_

**21: On Mothers**

_March 1, 1834_

_2 Place Saint-Pierre, Bordeaux_

_Dear Son, _

_I am writing in reply to your letter of the 20__th__ of February. It is clear that regardless of all reasoning and entreaties that you still intend to wed that greedy little strumpet. I have given you the opportunity to repent of your choice, but it seems you are intent on being disobedient. I must say that I am nothing but thoroughly disappointed with you. Have you no filial piety or at least any pity for your ailing father? Have you lost all sense of propriety so you will soil your good name and that of this family with such a disgusting match? You claim that you love her, which is a shame because such a creature is incapable of love; you are only wasting your sentiments. Her recent scandal alone shows her character enough. I do not need to even consider her low birth, her shameful older sister and brother-in-law, or even that she may have hardly had any virtue left when you first met her. She has obviously corrupted you. I cannot believe I have raised a son with such moral turpitude! Isn't it bad enough you've turned poet and playwright, and now you will ruin the rest of the family?_

_I will make it clear here and now that no one will welcome that whore into this family or even acknowledge her. You can also expect that your father and I, as well as all our relations will not attend the wedding, or have any further communication with you from this point onwards. I have forbidden it since now I have no son. No child of mine would dare as you did. _

_Sincerely,_

_Athenais Prouvaire_

Although Jehan had been aware and even bracing for the possibility of such a missive, it still had taken him more than half a minute before he could set down the letter. Even after hours had passed, during which he'd attended to errands and made a visit to the Rue des Macons, he still felt as if a millstone was occupying his chest.

'_I'll never be able to convince them,' _he thought despondently as he swallowed hard, afraid that his breath would leave his throat as a sob. He knew better than to conceal entirely the facts of Azelma's background and her part in recent political affairs; the stories were too public to be dismissed even in delicate correspondence. Nevertheless he had done his best to be discreet and occasionally circumspect with this matter, and to call more attention to Azelma's musical talents, her eye for aesthetics, her grace, her wit, her gentleness, and a myriad of other redeeming and endearing qualities. '_Did I do enough?' _he wondered.

Nearby, Eponine looked up from a page that Jehan had asked her to edit. Her eyes were dark and her lips quirked upwards as she studied him for a moment concernedly before setting down her pencil. "Are you sure you're well Jehan?"

The poet let out a sigh, knowing that some way or another she would find out. '_She's practically my sister-in-law, so I can't hide this from her,' _he thought as he composed himself. He rested his chin in his hands. "My mother wrote."

Eponine nodded, understanding what this could mean. After all they had discussed this problem on a number of other occasions. "What did she say?"

Jehan paused to figure out the best way to phrase the situation. "This may be the very last letter she'll send to me, unless I do as she wishes and break my engagement with Azelma." Some part of him had once wished that his mother would be kind or at least cordial towards Azelma especially since Azelma's own mother was deceased, but now he knew better than to hope for such bliss.

Eponine bit her lip. "I'm sorry. Is that all she said in the letter?"

Jehan shook his head. "She went as far as insulting everything about Azelma. We've fought before about what I do and who I associate with, but this...I cannot believe it even from my mother." For a moment the image of his mother flashed in his mind: a statuesque, commanding woman with a classical nose, a clear brow, cold green eyes, full lips too accustomed to screeching, and light brown hair pulled back into a severe chignon. It was a staggering contrast to Azelma's thin face, dark eyes, her raven hair always tied up in a braid, as well as her more lilting, gay and fey manner. "I know I shouldn't be angry with her, of all people in the world," he added contritely when he saw Eponine frown at this information.

"But I s'pose anyone would be in your place, even if they weren't as protective of my sister as you are. It's just as well she didn't tell you this to your face here in Paris, or I'd be standing right with you to make a reply," Eponine said. "Does Azelma know?"

"Not yet. She's been working with the costumers all day," Jehan replied. He took another deep breath and was relieved to find that the effort was far easier this time around. "I had imagined that maybe my father or some older relative would write that way to me. Not my own mother. I thought she'd at least hold me at a distance, but not cut the tie entirely. I wonder how Azelma will take it."

"That sort of thing will not be a surprise to her."

"Has it happened before?"

"My mother did such a thing, at least to my brothers," Eponine deadpanned. She shifted a little in her seat in an attempt to get comfortable despite the obvious swell of her belly. "It wasn't exactly because we didn't have money. I remember Gavroche cried a lot even when we were living in Montfermeil and things were still good."

"Azelma described her as being gentle," Jehan pointed out.

"To us girls and never to anyone else. Zelma was Maman's treasure; Maman said so herself," Eponine said wistfully. "I was Papa's favourite since he thought I was useful and he'd trust me to help with some of the things he was doing like standing lookout or giving letters. He'd ask Zelma sometimes to help but he always called her a booby, an idiot or things like that when things went wrong."

Jehan felt bile rise into the back of his throat from this revelation as well as his recollection of his first and only encounter with the former innkeeper. "Didn't your mother do anything to stop him?"

Eponine shook her head. "I s'pose she could have but she hardly said no to my father about anything." Her expression grew pensive as she reached out to stop her pencil from rolling off the desk. "She could have left, you know. Azelma and I would have gone with her if she asked. Nothing was really stopping her but she just didn't do it. I don't think she really knew where to go or what to do next."

The poet shut his eyes as a bleak and gray landscape arose before his vision; somehow he always saw this every time he heard a sordid tale of women and children with nowhere to go. It was not an unusual story even in a city like Paris, a place considered to hold more opportunities than most other areas in France. This time he could see Azelma wandering all alone in that featureless wilderness, calling out even as her voice was lost on the wind. "I wish she hadn't passed on while in prison."

"So do I," she said. "Sometimes I wonder what she would think of how things are now."

"Maybe they'd be better for her?" he asked hopefully.

She shrugged. "That would depend maybe if she could find something to do or if she'd like how we girls are getting on. Maman might have liked you for Azelma. She was a romantic. It's too bad Papa was anything but that, but maybe he was that way before."

This time Jehan had to fight not to cringe at the lurid mental images of his prospective father-in-law that these words conjured. "Azelma told me that your mother preferred the dashing hero sort."

"Now that I think about it, maybe she liked those only in books."

"Would she have approved of Enjolras as a son-in-law?"

Eponine burst out laughing. "Not at all! If Maman ever met Antoine, she would find him handsome and charming but also so odd especially with how serious and practical he is."

Jehan chuckled at this very apt description of his friend. "But if she was a romantic, she would have wanted you to marry for love."

"I s'pose in the end that might have mattered more," Eponine said with a smile. She looked again at the page she had been editing and then added a few notes to it before handing it back to Jehan. "Maybe things will come out right with you, Zelma, and your mother someday. I don't s'pose she can really stay away forever."

"She can do it for a very long time at least," Jehan said. Who knew what could transpire in a matter of months or years with such a cessation of communication?

"In the end you're still her son. She loves you," Eponine pointed out. "That counts for something, especially if you will remind her of it."

Jehan took a deep breath, willing himself to hang on to the optimism in Eponine's words. "It will," he said decisively. There was much he still felt he could put even with a one-sided correspondence.


	22. Chapter 22

_A/N: I managed to avoid this trope for much of WAMP, but a sick day drabble is inevitable in this universe anyway. _

**22: The Best Form of Restraint**

"What about later?"

"If you mean by 'tomorrow', maybe."

Enjolras let out an annoyed huff at this adamant reply. "It's only a head cold. That is hardly a reason to set aside one's work for the day."

"It is if you're burning up and can hardly keep your eyes open," Eponine retorted as she sat at the edge of their bed. She gripped his wrist tightly and shook her head on finding his hand, or for that matter the rest of him, still far too flushed for her liking. "You're still too warm."

"I've been worse," he insisted in a cracked voice.

"And I don't want you to be worse," she said as she reached for the cup of water on their bedside table.

He coughed before managing to get down more than half of the glass' contents. "I still don't deem it a reason enough to be abed all day," he muttered when he put the glass aside.

"Yes, but I do," she pointed out as she ran her fingers through his hair. She bit her lip as she felt him lean instinctively, almost tiredly into her touch. Although she was weary from having been up for most of the night just to see to him, she was more than half-sure that her own exhaustion was hardly comparable to whatever malaise he was feeling at that moment. '_I've never seen him more haggard, not even after his worst nightmares,' _she thought.

Enjolras smiled bravely as he rubbed her cheek with his thumb. "It's a passing thing."

"I want it to go away faster," she replied as she clasped his hand. "Anyway it's a Sunday and there's no meeting or anything up for either of us."

"I have to prepare for tomorrow," he scoffed. "There's too much to finish up before the meeting with the commission, and there is a report I have to edit."

"You'll be better able to do all of it after you've had some more sleep, don't you think?"She squeezed his knee through the thick quilt she'd wrapped him up in. "I know that things can be such a jumble to read when you're this tired, and your handwriting isn't much better either."

Enjolras managed to chuckle before suddenly sneezing. He groaned as he wiped his nose and blinked at Eponine. "I hate these head colds."

"I s'pose it's good you don't get them all that often," she quipped, thinking back a little ruefully on some of their friends who could hardly get through a cold spell without sneezing or coughing all day. "But on the rare time you do, you do feel truly awful."

"That's said a little too well," he groused before finally lying back down. His hair spread out messily on the pillow, making him seem even more boyish and vulnerable than he usually did. "Maybe an hour should do it."

'_Or more than an hour,' _she thought. She inched closer to him and patted his shoulder as she watched him toss and turn in a rather futile attempt to get more comfortable. After a while she thought the better of it and slipped under the covers, carefully taking her share of the quilt before throwing an arm around his waist.

Enjolras opened his eyes just to give her a confused look. "What about your brothers?"

"It's still early in the day; they won't miss us till lunchtime," she reassured him as she began to trace circles all over his back. She sighed as she felt him bury his face in the crook of her neck and nuzzle even closer. "Someone has to take care of you when you're this needy."

He made a little disapproving snort. "I'm not needy."

"Not all the time, thankfully," she said. She felt his lips curve against her skin in something that was between a smile and a kiss, a simple and tacit acceptance of the care that only she could give.


	23. Chapter 23

_Sequel to the previous outtake._

**23: Greedy Guts**

If Enjolras had to be perfectly honest, there were really some social occasions that had even _him_ ill at ease, such as luncheons thrown by some particularly recalcitrant names in society. '_The sort of reception that has one's gut twisting with disgust,'_he thought with unmitigated annoyance as he sorted through some papers he had been editing earlier that day. The only thing that had made the event tolerable had been the presence of more convivial colleagues as well as a number of good friends also working with the State. It was now past two in the afternoon, a good hour to settle back down to work, especially that which had fallen by the wayside thanks to the recently concluded social hullabaloo.

As he headed to the third floor to drop off something at a committee's office, he heard running footsteps and caught sight of what appeared to be Bossuet scrambling in the general direction of the lavatory. Trailing after him were Courfeyrac and Feuilly, the former all sympathy and commiseration and the latter with a look of resignation.

"Enjolras, did you happen to have any of the bouillabaisse earlier at the reception?" Feuilly called concernedly.

"No," Enjolras replied over the sounds of his friend being quite ill in the next room. He had never been overly fond of the dish, especially since his relatives in Aix were not particularly skilled with cooking seafood. He knocked worriedly on the lavatory door. "Do you need any help there, L'aigle?"

"That soup didn't look appetizing on the table," Courfeyrac chimed in. He knocked harder on the door. "Bossuet! Are you still in the land of the living?"

"Just barely," Bossuet groaned. "I'll be fine, there's no need to get Joly-" he began before launching into another round of retching.

Feuilly sighed deeply. "I could smell that something was off in the bouillabaisse. Probably the shellfish."

"How would you know?" Enjolras asked.

"Extensive experience. There's always some form of it, for better or worse, in Marseilles," Feuilly deadpanned. "Now almost the entire consul's office is incapacitated."

"I see," Enjolras said, knowing that his friend was phrasing the situation delicately. He stepped back as Bossuet stumbled out of the lavatory, such that both Enjolras and Courfeyrac had to steady him. "You're in no shape to attend meetings later, my friend," Enjolras said.

"Only my stomach, by the feel of it. The rest of me has not changed form," Bossuet said as he wiped his mouth.

Courfeyrac tightened his grip on a still shaky Bossuet. "Come on, let's get you home to Joly and Musichetta. The vapors here are heightening my ennui and worsening your humor." He nodded to Enjolras. "I think Eponine had some of the bouillabaisse too."

_'That changes all plans for the afternoon,'_ Enjolras thought ruefully before excusing himself and heading back downstairs to his own office. He was hardly surprised to find the door already ajar, even if he knew that he had locked it prior to leaving. He quietly went over to his chair, where Eponine was curled up in a manner akin to that of a large cat. He could feel the cold sweat on her brow when he pushed her hair back from her face. "How much of that bouillabaisse did you have?" he asked when she stirred and opened her eyes.

"Three servings," she murmured through gritted teeth before curling up further in the chair. "Damn that soup."

"I warned you to go a little easy on it," he said as he chafed her very warm hands. He realized now that Eponine had somehow emptied a jug of water that he had kept in this room, and had now conveniently placed this vessel next to the chair.

"Never had it before, didn't think it would end this way-" she said before she clapped a hand over her mouth and used her free hand to grab the jug moments before she retched. "Don't look," she murmured miserably.

"It's a bit late for that, Eponine," he deadpanned as he gathered her hair away from her face before she could be sick again. For a long time all he could do was to rub her back and hold her steady until the worst of the retching had passed. He waited for her to stop trembling before handing her a handkerchief to wipe her mouth. "We should go home."

She nodded and looked down, clearly fighting to stay in control. "You didn't have to see that."

"You're right. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't," he pointed out as he clasped her hands.

"How could you do it?" she asked as she looked up at him, her face still pale with illness and embarrassment.

"If I cannot stand with you at your worst, then you have every right to dismiss me when you're at your best," he replied. "You'd do-and you did-the same for me anyway."

"Always." She managed a smile as she wiped her mouth again. "Thank you," she said a little shyly as she hugged him.

"Don't mention it," he said, kissing her cheek before letting her settle back into the chair to rest while he gathered up their things for the trip back to the safety of their home.


	24. Chapter 24

**Worthy of You Both**

_1847_

"Your mother was a whore, that's probably why she left you behind!"

That had been the last coherent thing anyone said before every form of chaos broke loose in the yard of the new secondary school at the Place Saint-Andre. At the end of the fray twelve students had to be dragged to the headmaster's office for punishment while five more were taken to the infirmary. Among these five was the unfortunate boy who had been at the cause and center of the entire debacle. '_They'll probably call me to the headmaster's office tomorrow or soon enough,' _Armand Courfeyrac thought despondently as he tried to make himself comfortable in an armchair while keeping his sprained ankle propped up on a slightly wobbly stool. He had been stuck there all afternoon under the watchful eye of a nurse, and while he was not entirely sorry to be away from his boring lessons in Geography and Mathematics, he was quite dreading the things that could transpire once he left the infirmary. At the age of fourteen he was old enough to know that these affairs always came with repercussions that went beyond getting a bruise or two in a fight.

As he began contemplating the dust motes in a ray of light from the high windows, he heard the infirmary door swing open. "Easy there Courfeyrac, it's just us!" a voice called.

Armand laughed when he realized that he had clenched his fist and was almost out of the chair. "What did the headmaster do to the two of you?" he asked the dark haired boy and the blonde girl who entered the hall.

"A caning for me, and fifty lines for Laure," Georges Pontmercy the Second replied, gesturing first to himself and then to the girl, who was wiping her chalk-covered hands on her skirt. Georges winced after speaking, for there was a large bruise on the side of his face that was beginning to darken and could not be hidden even by his slightly long raven hair that fell into his eyes. "That's why I'm not sitting down."

"It will be my turn maybe in a day or two, so then I'll stand guard," Armand joked as he combed back his disheveled chestnut hair before looking keenly at his friends. "You two didn't have to jump in. Now you're in trouble as well."

"Oh come now, you would have done the same if had gone the other way around," Laure Enjolras said. She bent to pull at her broken bootlace, which she then used to tie back her unruly curls. "Don't act like you would have sat still, Pontmercy. You would have been furious if someone had said the same sort of thing about Aunt Cosette, I mean, your Maman."

Georges stiffened at these words and his blue eyes turned dark. "That's because it isn't true."

"There it is," Laure said smugly. "Those senior boys should have gotten caned too for what they said, not just for fighting. No one should ever say that about a lady," she added more firmly.

"_But the thing is, some people don't think Maman was a lady," _Armand thought despondently. As far as he knew, his mother Paulette had been a seamstress from Rouen before she'd met his father Maurice Courfeyrac some time before the revolution fifteen years ago. For reasons that his father refused to voice out, his parents did not marry before his birth and his mother's demise, thus always putting him in a certain light in the eyes of other people despite his father's acknowledgment. '_I'll never be respectable even if I avoid becoming scandalous,' _he realized.

Laure checked her other shoe and found her other bootlace broken. She cursed as she pulled this out as well and then stuffed it in her coat pocket. "You'd better still come with us. It's my uncle Gavroche's birthday dinner tonight, and he told me to make sure you're there even if your father might be a little late," she said.

"I'm there for the food, naturally," Armand quipped even as his friends helped him get to his feet and then limp out of the infirmary. Granted, he would certainly have to deal with questions not just from his own father but also from much of his 'extended family', meaning his father's friends as well as his own chums, but this prospect did not dampen the good cheer he could still feel at a celebration. "And I promise I won't be nasty to your sister this time," he told Georges as they headed out the door of the school building.

"I was about to mention that. If you make Marie-Fantine cry again, you'll have a worse thing coming than a sprained ankle," Georges warned.

"Which is?"

"I'll be involved," Laure chimed in. "Does that scare you already?"

Armand sighed deeply; the last time that Marie-Fantine had asked for Laure's help with some retribution, he'd been stuck with dye all over his palms and even under his fingernails for the better part of a week. '_Probably got that from one of her uncles,' _he reminded himself. At any rate it had deterred him from pulling pranks on some of his friends for about six weeks and counting. "Your parents aren't happy that you did that to me," he reminded her.

"Because Papa said it was disproportionate for a punishment and Maman said it was too much of a mess," Laure said.

In the meantime Georges waved to where Basque was driving up a carriage to the schoolyard gate. "I'm sorry we kept you waiting," he said to his family's longtime manservant. "We had a bit of a scuffle."

Basque rolled his eyes resignedly; it was not the first time he had seen this trio in the direct aftermath of some scrape. "Your father is still at the Palais de Justice, while your mother and your siblings are visiting the refuge at the Rue del'Ouest," he informed Georges.

Armand breathed a sigh of relief on overhearing this; he would not have to deal with all of the Pontmercy siblings quizzing him in one go. '_Which means there's only Julien and Etienne around since everyone else will only turn up at dinner,' _he thought. Nevertheless Laure's younger brothers were already a handful in themselves, and he would need all his energy and more if he was to deal with them. Hopefully their presence would be a welcome distraction.

When they arrived at 9 Rue Guisarde, Laure went in first to explain the situation to her parents while Georges helped Armand to the large settee in the front room, where he could hopefully sit undisturbed and away from where the two young Enjolras brothers were playing in the hall. After a few minutes Laure trooped into the front room, followed by her father. "How are you feeling, Armand?" Enjolras asked concernedly.

"I'm fine, Uncle. Please don't call Uncle Joly or Uncle Combeferre," Armand said to his godfather.

"They'll want to have a look at you when they get here for dinner," Enjolras pointed out as he sat down on a chair nearest to the settee while Laure perched herself on the armrest. "Laure said that the fight was because of something horrid a boy said about your mother," he said seriously.

Armand gave Laure a withering look. "Why did you tell him about that?"

"I couldn't just pretend there wasn't a reason for the ruckus," Laure replied. "I thought that you and Maman could talk to Armand too about Aunt Paulette," she said to her father.

Enjolras patted his daughter's shoulder. "If you want more exact stories, you'd better talk to your aunts; Eponine will certainly tell you more in a while," he informed the youngsters. He regarded Armand seriously for a moment. "Your mother was very much a lady, and above all a good friend to those who loved her."

"She and Papa never married. That's why everyone will always think she was a—-" Armand trailed off, unable to say the word 'whore'. "I know she wasn't. My father told me so," he finally said.

"Your parents never _could_ marry even if they wanted to," Enjolras said. "You are already aware of how matters stand between your father and your other relatives. That in itself was already a complication."

Armand took a pained breath at the reminder of this fact. '_That never stopped other people,' _he thought. Some of his father's friends such as the Prouvaires and the Jolys had defied one or both families just for the sake of matrimony. "Did they at least care for each other?" he asked.

"What kind of a question is that? Your father is still unmarried!" Georges groaned.

'_For my sake; he always said that raising me is already a commitment enough,' _Armand almost said, but he caught himself at the last moment. Was it possible that there was a long gone sentiment still buried there? He realized that his godfather had a pensive look on his face on hearing this exchange. "There was something, wasn't there?" he pressed on.

Enjolras smiled wryly. "Certainly. Your father said as much, and his actions prove it all the more."

"What about my mother?"

"Your father was her first. And only," Eponine chimed in as she entered the front room. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help but overhear," she added as she found a chair before her husband could give up his seat for her.

Armand sat up straighter. "You were one of my mother's close friends."

"I didn't know her as long as say, your aunts Chetta and Therese did, but we got on very well. She was brave—-and that's not only because she dared to have you," Eponine said candidly. "She actually got involved in trying to get women to vote, even before many of us ladies really got interested."

"This was around the time the Cafe Bon Vivant first opened for meetings?" Enjolras asked her.

"You remember," Eponine replied approvingly as she squeezed his shoulder. "If you recall, _she_ was the one who helped Claudine and Chetta convince me to come to that meeting. You know that wasn't the only great thing she did too."

"Mother was an agitator?" Armand asked incredulously.

"A little more quietly. She didn't like writing or speaking out at meetings but she did like talking to people," Eponine explained.

"Why didn't Papa ever mention it?"

"Oh it would happen at her workplace, when she'd sew and meet all these ladies and some of their gentlemen. Your father didn't know everything about that, but it mattered a great deal."

"You'll probably hear a lot more if you ask later," Laure said. "Those boys at school are idiots for saying such things about your mother."

Enjolras gave her a reproving look. "Laure, there are other ways to express that sentiment."

"She's still right though," Armand quipped. He took a deep breath as he sat back on the settee. "If I know more, will I be able to live up to all of that—-to both of them, I mean?"

"Now that is the part of the story you will certainly make for yourself," Enjolras said confidently over the sound of knocking from the front door.


	25. Chapter 25

_A/N: Finally a treat here. Combeferre and Claudine star in this outtake_

**25: On Declarations and Addresses**

_October 1833_

The question resurfaces when Claudine wakes up once again just after dawn on a Saturday, only to find the other side of her bed vacant but still smelling very distinctly of a passionate evening. '_This is ridiculous,' _she tells herself as she goes to her closet, where she has to carefully pick through a hodgepodge of chemises and dresses mingled with Combeferre's shirts, waistcoats, trousers, and coats. As she readies for the day she cannot help but take a look around her room, where all the books, papers and some of the writing implements are also in a similarly jumbled state. This sight makes her all the more determined to set the situation straight.

She spends the day pondering her move, even while she deals with customers at her late father's textile shop or takes short breaks to read through newspapers and jot down her own commentaries. It's only lately that she feels that she can go about these things without feeling her father's shade nearby or listening for his voice in his room or his faltering step in the hall. '_It's time now, isn't it, Papa? You know already the truth about me and Francois,' _she asks the silence. She is not sure if it is true that the dead are imbued with some omniscience and hence can finally see what the living deliberately concealed from them, but she is fairly certain that even in his last days Valentin Andreas was cognizant of the fact that the partnership under his own roof was far from innocent and decorous. Of course, she reminds herself, he never said anything about it because he had first and foremost wanted her to be cared for after he was gone, even if it meant that she and Francois Combeferre would most likely deviate a little from what was considered proper. Perhaps the only real regret is that her father is no longer around to see how she and Combeferre will finally get things right.

Claudine shuts up the textile shop just before four in the afternoon and then heads to the Latin Quartier. She stops first at the Place Saint-Andre, and doesn't blink as she spends a fair sum of francs on a more refined catalogue of rocks. It seems only fitting for the discussion she and Combeferre must have tonight. By the time she arrives at the Musain, the front room is abuzz with people, some of whom she recognizes as her fellow members of _Les Femmes Pour Egalite et Fraternite_. For a moment she hesitates at the door, knowing that there will be no end of tittering and whispering if some of the more careless grisettes see her walk in and make a beeline for Combeferre, who she can already see at his favourite spot near the passage leading to the famed backroom. She looks around to take in the now blazing sky and the crowds hurrying through the square, and this is enough to steel her resolve. She has never been one for hiding, whether before or after the revolution, and if part of this means that everyone will know that a bluestocking as her can be deeply in love with a scholar-physician-philosopher, then so be it.

"You're late!" Eponine calls to her cheekily as soon as she enters.

Claudine rolls her eyes, pretending to be upset at her friend. "You never said we ladies would have a discussion today."

"Not for this," Eponine replies before gesturing with her eyes to where Combeferre is seated. Although she does not say anything more her enthusiastic manner gives much away; Eponine has never been, and thankfully never will be, good at concealing joy particularly if it has to do with the fortunes of her nearest and dearest. If ever this contagious happiness only heightens Claudine's own sense of anticipation as she crosses the room to sit with Combeferre.

His apologetic smile is enough to prompt her to cut quickly to the matter. "You left Picpus before breakfast," she says.

"I'm sorry. I left something important at the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau," Combeferre replies sheepishly as he presses both her hands in his. "Forgive me."

"Francois, that is why I want you to move your library and collections to Picpus so you won't have to make another stop at the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau," she says seriously. "I don't see why you need to keep up two lodgings."

His jaw drops, as if he is taken aback or worse, affronted by this offer. "Claudine, I wasn't expecting this," he finally says, blinking a little behind his spectacles.

She shakes her head, reminding herself to be patient with him. Sometimes his overzealous gallantry leads him to misinterpret things and react in such a way that can irk her. "What were you expecting? As far as everyone is concerned I'm already Citizenness Combeferre," she tells him bluntly as she leans in. She waits for a moment for the words to sink in even as she wonders if she should tell him about the book of rocks, or maybe even make a metaphor with it. However the stunned look in his brown eyes makes her decide against it and settle for speaking plainly. "I want us to make that an actuality, Francois. I want to marry you."

Combeferre is silent only for a second longer before he tenderly kisses both of her hands. "I wasn't expecting you to ask. Today and right now especially," he confesses.

Claudine smiles as it all makes sense to her now: his waking up early, Eponine's diverting most of the cafe patrons, and this table in the corner. "I'm sorry if I made your plan superfluous."

He laughs even as he brings out a small silver ring from his pocket. "Only partially. Will you let me ask all the same?"

She nods. "Please do."

Combeferre takes a deep breath. "Claudine Aida Andreas, we've been happy together these past six years. I have become a far better man at your side, and it would be an immeasurable honor if you would accept me as your husband. Will you marry me?"

Claudine takes the ring and helps him slip it onto her left ring finger. "Yes, Francois."

He kisses her lips chastely but his eyes belie the passion he can barely put into words. "Thank you."

She looks to where a few of the other cafe patrons are now casting curious looks in their direction. There is much she wants to say and do in this moment but certainly not at this very public location. "Let's bring your things home," she suggests.

"My lease still holds for another month," Combeferre reminds her.

"You did promise the concierge to properly clean out your apartment; after all the studies we've done there, that room needs rehabilitation," Claudine points out. It feels odd to say these words, but the coolness of the ring on her finger lends a certainty that she never thought possible.

Eponine gives them a congratulatory smile as they vacate their table. "Are you bringing something to your laboratory again?" she asks slyly.

"No, we simply left something overdue," Combeferre replies, though his own grin speaks already of his own triumph.

Eponine's smile only grows more mischievous. "I s'pose you two shouldn't delay then. I'll give your regards to Antoine and the boys," she says primly.

"Thank you Ponine!" Claudine manages to say before she has to pull Combeferre out of the Musain, just to give them the opportunity to laugh out loud like the way young lovers ought to do.


End file.
